


Bend or Break

by Kittenshift17



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, Dark, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Kidnapping, Light Angst, Smut, Stockholm Syndrome, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-06-27 14:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15686853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenshift17/pseuds/Kittenshift17
Summary: The mission should have been simple. Seduce a Death Eater for capture and interrogation by the Order, who would hold him hostage until such time that his usefulness ran out. Hermione had agreed to help with the seduction part of that mission. She didn't agree to babysitting an angry Death Eater in a remote safe house. And she sure as hell didn't agree to Thorfinn Rowle.





	1. Chapter One

Danger. He reeked of it. It oozed from every pore and crackled through every thick lock of blonde hair hanging about his shoulders. Danger. It was branded into his forearm. It twinkled in his blue eyes. Danger. He seemed the incarnation of it. She watched him over the rim of her drink in the dingy pub on Knockturn Alley that a witch like her had no business being, and she couldn't help thinking everything about him simply screamed danger.

He was powerful, too. She could see it in the way he moved; the way he held himself. Already dangerous based merely on his strapping build; all broad shoulders, bulging biceps and powerful legs, his overall power as a wizard oozed a warning as well. He was far more powerful than he looked, she realised, and it occurred to her as she sipped her drink, intent on seducing him right on out of there, that this was a bad idea.

She should find someone else. Wait for a different Death Eater to wander into the bar. This one might be the only one who could freely wander about without someone spotting him and recognising him as an escaped prisoner, but surely he'd have buddies with him. Surely the Order could find a better Death Eater to kidnap. Certainly they could do better than the likes of Thorfinn Rowle - a baser human being she was sure she'd  _never_ met. And she'd met Ronald, so that really was saying something.

No, this wizard was all brawn and power and sex appeal that would've made her knickers damp if not for the ugly black magic stamped into his left forearm, marking him as her enemy. Hermione Granger took another sip of her drink while every instinct she had was screaming that she shouldn't pick this one. No, she had a mission. She had to find a Death Eater and seduce him into coming 'home' with her. And long before reaching that destination she was going to find the seduction interrupted by several member of the Order, Remus Lupin and Alastor Moody among them, before the Death Eater would be captured and dragged off for interrogation.

She'd been roped into the job because there really weren't that many witches in the Order. Molly would be too easily recognised. Tonks was pregnant and Ginny was too young. And Minerva could hardly sign up for the job without being recognised as the former teacher or classmate of most of the wizards calling themselves Death Eaters and serving their Dark Lord. So the job had fallen to Hermione. She was to seduce a Death Eater out of the bar to be kidnapped – something Harry and Ron had laughed about heartily when she'd pointed out that she had absolutely no clue how to seduce a man. Sirius had been forced to step in and show her what to do.

And now she sat in this wretched bar, eyeing the first Death Eater to have come in the door and she was thinking that this couldn't have been a more outrageously insane plan than just walking right up to Voldemort himself and asking him how he felt about having no nose. She'd already been iffy on the plan from the beginning, but this was just barmy. She couldn't do it. Not with this wretched man.

She shot a glance from beneath her hood in the direction of Remus, who was sitting in the corner of the bar and looking nothing like the Remus she knew given that he had his fangs out. She shook her head at him subtly, indicating that she couldn't do it. Not with this particular Death Eater. It would end badly. For one, he might recognise her, not matter the Polyjucie potion she'd been ingesting all evening to make her look like an attractive red-head with corkscrew curls. For another, he was Thorfinn bloody Rowle and he would surely overpower whoever the Order had in place to grab the Death Eater once she'd gotten him out of the pub and into the alley.

Remus flashed his fangs at her in warning for looking at him and for being a coward. Hermione bared her own teeth in return without meaning to before she focused her attention back on Rowle. This was a bad idea. He was going to do a lot of damage to the extraction team before he was subdued. Worse, he was a wretched bastard whom Hermione would enjoy stabbing with something sharp, repeatedly, in the eye.

Gritting her teeth, Hermione threw back the rest of her drink before pulling the hood off her head under the pretence of shaking her hair – a beacon for every eye in the pub given its vivid red colour and the wild curls that bombarded about her. The muggle girl whose hair they'd absconded with was certainly pretty, but Hermione wasn't fond of the attention she drew wearing the other woman's skin. Merlin, when she'd looked in the mirror at home she'd decided, rather worryingly, that she looked the way she imagined any daughter she might have sired by a Weasley would look.

Flipping her hair the way Sirius had taught her would draw even more attention, Hermione shook it out and got to her feet. She felt unsteady in the dress and heels she'd donned for this little seduction plot. Leather boots that hugged her legs all the way to mid-thigh were worn over thick lace leggings and paired with a corseted lace dress that barely hid her assets from full view – all beneath a heavy, hooded black cloak – she certainly looked the part in the alley. Ron had told her she'd looked like she was asking for it.

The idea of approaching Rowle made her feel like she  _was_  asking for it, given her mission. Pretending she was oblivious to the attention of the other lecherous patrons within the bar, Hermione picked up her empty glass and carried it back to the bar, setting it down and waiting for service. She'd made sure to watch Rowle for more than an hour before making her move. She didn't want to make him suspicious, but honestly she was doubting her ability to effectively pick him up in any kind of sense.

He had a number of other witches already flitting around him, drawn like moths to a flame as the terrible trollops in the bar tried to gain his favour and talk their way into bed with him. He'd been laughing and chatting most of them up in a way that somehow managed to seem dangerous even though, in this instance, he was prey rather than predator. Hermione could feel it when he looked at her. Merlin, she'd  _always_  been able to feel it when this particular wizard looked at her.

It itched between her shoulder blades and worked its way down her spine like an icy finger.

But she didn't let it show. Hermione studiously ignored the big blonde wizard, knowing from past experience with him - a lifetime ago - that if there was one thing that Rowle couldn't stand, it was being ignored by a witch. When the bartender reached her, Hermione ordered another drink and watched him pour it. She noted with some amusement it took him longer than it should have because of the way she leaned forward suggestively to order it, wafting her Amortentia spiked perfume. Fred and George had insisted she ought to use some – an invention of theirs - to make certain that if she got close enough to whichever Death Eater she encountered, she'd be able to lure him away from the bar with her without question.

When the bartender brought over her drink, Hermione leaned on the bar to drink it slowly. She glanced at Rowle out the corner of her eye, still feeling his gaze upon her and fighting the urge to squirm under his gaze. She hated that feeling. She hadn't felt it since the big idiot had been at Hogwarts with her, but right now she wanted nothing more than to walk out of this bar and never have to look at him again. Only the fact that the Order would interrogate him – violently, if Moody was going to be involved – stopped her from running.

The witches around him had all begun to pout to find he wasn't paying attention and Hermione was momentarily waylaid when some drunk littler lecher stumbled over to her, obviously catching the scent of her perfume and lured into attraction to her.

"Pretty little thing like you in a place like this, love?" The drunk slurred his words, replacing all the 'T's in his words with a 'W' sound and tripping over the endearment.

"My, but it's blessing being in your presence," Hermione replied sarcastically. She was really hoping Remus would be able to do something about this mess before it got out of hand.

"Is, ain't it?" the drunk chuckled. "You want to make a little magic, beautiful?"

Hermione laughed at his terrible attempt at a pick-up line, even knowing it would likely encourage the poor, rotten-toothed fool but unable to keep her scornful laughter to herself.

"I'm doubting that you're in possession of a working wand," Hermione replied. She snickered to herself. "Someone get this fool a handful of Floo powder?"

She addressed the suggestion to the bartender, who smirked cruelly, one corner of his mouth quirking up before he rounded the bar and did just that, dragging the drunk wizard over to the fireplace in the corner and shoving him into it, dropping some Floo powder and sending the git home. Hermione was rather pleased by that and just slurping up the last of her drink – using a straw she'd conjured for herself because she didn't trust the notion of putting her lips on the glassware in the dodgy place – when it happened.

"Some bastard giving you trouble, little lady?" Rowle's deep voice asked from behind her and Hermione's spine straightened a vertebrae at a time.

"I kind of like trouble," Hermione replied. She didn't dare look at him, suddenly feeling vulnerable when the man placed both hands on the bar, one either side of her slim frame.

He didn't touch her, but she felt more than saw the way he nodded to the bartender. Hermione watched the man behind the bar begin to fix them both another drink and it made her nervous.

"That right?" Rowle asked.

Hermione nodded, suddenly feeling much less cool than she'd been playing. There was something so unsettling about being in his immediate presence. She'd always felt it. Even when she'd been just a silly little third year while he'd been in seventh year, Hermione had been entirely too aware of the unsettling feel of his presence. Back then it had felt like fear – an icy sort of chill that crept under her hair and ghosted across the back of her neck. Now? Well, now it felt a lot more like damp knickers  _in spite_  of the chill running down her spine.

"And you?" Hermione asked. "How do you feel about trouble, Mister…?"

"Rowle," he answered. "Thorfinn Rowle. And I'd say I'm pretty familiar with trouble."

Being that he was in Knockturn Alley, where most people considered it a badge of the highest honour, rather than something shameful and criminal, his Dark Mark was on display. He'd rolled up his sleeves and revealed the wretched stain upon his skin and upon his soul. Hermione wanted to curl her lip and flinch away from it – from  _him_  – but she didn't dare. She had a job to do. She had to seduce this wretched wizard and she had to do it quickly, before he realised how inept she was at the art of seduction.

"Does it have anything to do with this?" she found herself asking. Her hand barely trembled as she brushed it over the back of his forearm before slowly –  _slowly_  – curling her fingers around the flesh to brush over his brand.

It sent a shudder of revulsion down her spine when she felt an awful pulse of the blackest magic inside the mark upon his flesh. Akin to suddenly discovering some foul parasite upon one's own flesh, it made her recoil in revulsion, but also sparked an immediate yearning to remove the ghastly thing from the flesh it inhabited. Just as she felt the strongest urge to jerk back from it in disgust, she also felt the need to draw the darkness from his flesh like drawing pus from a festering wound.

She couldn't have described it again, had she tried, but when she found her nails digging into the mark hard enough to draw blood, Hermione knew she should've walked away. When he didn't flinch back or try to pull his arm away, even when she dug her nails in hard enough to break the skin, she knew she should've run. But she didn't.

"What might you know about that?" Rowle asked. His voice a warm purr in her ear as he stepped closer behind her until his long, masculine form moulded against her much smaller, much more fragile feminine one.

"Not a thing," Hermione said. She shrugged her shoulders slightly, feeling the strangest urge to melt back into his embrace when he touched her like that.

Merlin, she felt many a strange urge when it came to Thorfinn Rowle. She always had - since the moment she'd met him – but this was different. This felt almost like the Amortentia spiking her perfume was affecting her rather than him; making her want to turn in his hold and stretch up on her toes until she could taste whatever wicked words might drip off his tongue.

"A drink for the lady," he murmured. Hermione watched the bartender bring them both a drink before Rowle handed over the money for them. "So, are you going to tell me your name? Or should I guess?"

"Arabella." Hermione blurted the first name that popped into her head – which, incidentally, happened to be her cousin's name.

"Arabella," Thorfinn repeated. "Pretty name. You don't look like an Arabella."

"Oh?"

Every hair on her body stood on end when he leaned into her a little more firmly, effectively trapping her body against the bar.

"No. You look more like a little  _Princess_ ," he informed her.

Hermione had to clamp down on every muscle within her to keep from apparating in terror right then. He knew. She might look different, smell different and even be dressed differently, but he knew. He must. That had always been the name he's taunted her with at Hogwarts. He'd called her a prudish, stuck-up Princess who needed to be reminded her of her place.

Despite her sudden terror, Hermione worked hard to sound normal when she emitted a flirty little chuckle.

"I think most girls fancy themselves little princesses, Thorfinn." Hermione felt dirty as she spoke his given name rather than sneering his surname, as she was much more comfortable doing.

"You reckon?" He laughed as though she amused him. "Most of the women I know would prefer to consider themselves queens."

"Most of the women you know must be conceited," Hermione replied.

Rowle laughed again, a loud booming sort of laugh of genuine amusement that she'd never heard him emit in her presence before. Scornful sniggers, cold chuckles and gleeful chortles she was accustomed to. But never laughter simply to express his amusement. The idea upset her immensely.

"They are, actually."

Hermione drank her drink carefully to avoid thinking of something to say, having to pry her hand from his Dark Mark when she realised she was drawing blood and scratching at it like a mongrel dog at the mange. She drank the cool liquid and she tried to figure out how she was going to migrate the conversation and indeed, their location, from this dingy bar to the alley outside where the rest of the Order were lying in wait to pounce upon this man.

"So," Rowle began, "you want to get out of here?"

It was that simple. Maybe it was the perfume. Maybe it was a trap for her as much as for him. Maybe he suspected her to be exactly who she really was beneath the magic of Polyjuice potion. Maybe he was just the type of bloke who would make such an offer to such a witch after learning no more than her name if he thought he could wet his dick with minimal effort.

Then again, if he'd wanted that, he could have chosen one of the twits who'd been hanging off him before he'd approached her. Hermione smirked around her straw as she gulped down the rest of her drink. It had to be a combination of all them, all thrown in with the testosterone-fuelled urge he had to lure a woman into bed with him when she'd not been one of the gnats buzzing about him. His ego had gotten involved and Hermione doubted he'd let her alone unless she agreed.

"Where might we go?" Hermione asked coyly.

"Oh, I can think of a number of places I'd like to take you, little lady," he answered.

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"If you say something perverted like Penetration Station, I'm going to smack you, Thorfinn Rowle," Hermione threatened. She shuddered a second time when another of those booming laughs escaped him.

"That'd be just one stop if you climb aboard this train," he said.

Hermione actually snorted then. Gods, she had to get him out of there and into the hands of the Order before she did something stupid and blew her cover.

"Lead the way, sir," she said. She set down her empty glass and tipping her face sideways to meet his gaze over her shoulder.

His smirk was wicked before he skolled the rest of this drink and copied her, his glass chinking against the edge of the bar. He took one of her hands and stepped back to let her move away from where she'd been trapped against the bar. Hermione went willingly enough, being sure to avoid looking in Remus's direction as Rowle looped one muscular arm about her slim shoulders and began steering her out of the bar.

She didn't have to look over her shoulder as they walked out the door to know that Remus was following in their wake, just waiting to pounce.


	2. Chapter Two

Thorfinn was feeling pretty good about himself when the hot little redhead let him lead her into the alley. He'd never fucked a redhead, but he was about to alter that unfortunate fact.

"My place or yours?" he asked.

The girl glanced up at him, her eyes wide. She seemed like a skittish little thing, despite the way she'd been scratching at his Dark Mark. He'd never encountered another witch who'd done that. Most of them were too scared to touch it; too revolted by the vile magic contained within to even dare touch his left forearm, let alone the Dark Mark itself. It was curious, Thorfinn thought, that this skittish little witch who'd seemed so uninterested in him before he'd approached her could be brave enough to scratch at his mark hard enough to draw blood.

She'd dug her nails into it like she meant to claw the vile thing right from his flesh until it was nothing but a messy scar. He didn't know what to make of that.

"My place is just up the road," she offered quietly. Thorfinn smirked at her. She certainly wasn't drunk, and she didn't seem big on trying to fill his head with inane chatter. She also wasn't prone to brainless giggling – as so many witches tended to be in his presence.

He kind of liked that. Most of the witches he lured into bed with him were twits and got on his nerves. This one, he was thinking, was no twit. He'd be willing to bet she wasn't actually as skittish or as inexperienced as she seemed, either. He was betting that she'd be a firecracker, if he were to rile her up. Intent on finding out, Thorfinn pulled her closer to him. He ducked his head and nuzzled her cheek when she didn't actually lift her mouth to his.

"Lead the way, Princess," he murmured. He nipped her jaw lightly, his arm around her shoulders holding her to him snugly.

"You're going to make me forget the way if you keep doing that," she said. Thorfinn might've thought she wasn't into it, from the tonelessness of her voice as she spoke the words, but he could hear the ragged little gasp she drew into her lungs as they meandered up Knockturn Alley.

"What about if I do this?" he asked. Cupping his hand around her jaw, he turned her body in his hold and tilted her mouth up to receive his kiss.

Sweet Salazar's fucking serpent!

Heat blazed through him when his lips met hers, sweeping him into a frenzy of lips and tongues and teeth. She nipped his lower lip before snogging him hotly, her tongue sliding against his and making his cock spring to life inside his trousers. Fucking hell, he'd never snogged a witch with such immediate fire; such passion.

He didn't actually recall shoving her up against the wall of the alley. He didn't remember gripping her arse in both hands and hauling her up his body until her ankles locked against the small of his back and her arms were tight around his neck. Thorfinn felt like a man possessed as he snogged her, drowning in a scent that haunted his daydreams. He bucked his hips against the apex of her thighs, so hot and inviting against the front of his trousers.

One of her hands tangled into his loose long hair, the other shifting slightly around his neck and moving strangely before gripping his shoulder but Thorfinn was too caught up in the sweet taste of her lips - like the finest whiskey sweeping across his senses - to notice. Her scent permeated his brain; a caramel and jasmine blend that made his mouth water and made him think there was more to this little redhead than met the eye.

"I think that'll be just about enough," a gravelly voice invaded on the moment. Thorfinn suddenly found himself torn back from the witch.

The witch who dropped easily back to her feet as he was hauled away from her, strong claw-tipped hands suddenly around his throat. Thorfinn narrowed his eyes on her when she straightened her skirts before spitting on the pavement as though she'd just tasted something vile.

"Got a bit carried away, didn't you, Granger?" another voice asked, this one coming from Thorfinn's right. He found a wand digging into his ribs from that side and Thorfinn's gaze darted right, only to encounter the grizzled visage of ex-Auror Alastor Moody.

" _Granger_?" Thorfinn snarled, struggling in the tight hold.

"Don't move, kid," that low gravelly voice from behind him threatened. "Or I'll rip you throat out for touching her, right now."

"Easy, Remus," the witch spoke, no longer seeming skittish or coy, as she'd done at the bar. "I had to play my part. And look how neatly he fell into our trap."

Her smile was cold and cruel as her face began to bubble, and her long red curls faded to a chocolatey shade of brown in the flickering street-light. Granger.

"I fucking  _knew_  I smelled caramel and jasmine on you, Princess. I  _knew_  it was you!" Thorfinn snarled before he began to fight. Strong hands gripped him, ropes and chains flinging from wand-tips to encircle him. The hands on his throat tightened dangerously. Lupin. They'd sent the fucking Order after him – the werewolf suddenly at his back and ready to rip his throat out.

"Well guess what, Superstar?" Granger smirked at him coldly, looking nothing like the indignant, prudish witch he recalled from his final years at Hogwarts. "You subconsciously fancy me. You shouldn't have been able to smell  _me_ , unless I'm what happens to attract you."

"Amortentia?" Thorfinn spat, landing a punch on someone's jaw and sending them reeling as more Order members began swarming him, trying to restrain him.

"In the perfume," she said. The little bitch had the gall to smirk at him wickedly and Thorfinn's rage exploded.

Leaping flames of bright orange exploded from within him and someone screamed as they caught the blast. Moody blasted him sideways with a  _Reducto_  curse, the chains binding Thorfinn's legs preventing him from keeping his feet. He landed hard on the pavement, but rolled to take the brunt of the fall on his massive shoulders.

"I'm going to fucking  _murder_  you for this, Princess," Thorfinn growled. His eyes sought the little witch he'd loathed since his Hogwarts days. He hadn't seen her in ages, and fucking hell, she'd grown up sexier than the cunting devil! Thorfinn cursed again even as he rolled, trying to dodge the raging werewolf attempting to capture him.

Thorfinn kicked out with both bound feet, connecting them solidly against the werewolf's chest and sending him flying through a nearby shop-window. He felt a sense of satisfaction well up within him at the sight before reaching for his wand. If he could get word off to the rest of the Inner Circle, he'd be fine. They'd all been itching for a good fight recently, too. The Order had been holed up trying to fandangle some fancy escape plan for those that Thorfinn's fellow Death Eaters had taken hostage in a recent Order-Safe-House raid.

Good fucking luck to them. The ones who weren't of any use had been given over to Bellatrix and Fenrir. No way did the Order want whatever broken, fractured pieces were left. He fumbled his wand when Moody charged him - bum-leg and all – and Thorfinn cursed when the tool slipped from his grip to skitter away across the uneven and filthy cobblestones.

"Fucking cunts!"

Thorfinn watched his weapon roll away before one high-heeled boot came down upon it. Thigh-high, the leather hugged a pair of legs Thorfinn had been hoping would be wrapped around his head before he'd been jumped. He was thinking that was no longer on the agenda. For one, he was about to be taken prisoner by the fucking Order of the Phoenix. For another, he wasn't about to touch a fucking mudblood with a ten-foot pole. Not even if someone paid him.

"The more you struggle, the more you'll suffer during your interrogation." Moody threatened him angrily as he dropped his good knee onto the middle of Thorfinn's chest while a pair of red-haired lads – Weasley boys by the look of them – pinned his arms to the pavement to prevent him from touching his wand or pressing his fingers to his Dark Mark.

"You'll never take me alive," Thorfinn argued. He slung one of his arms free and clocked a Weasley lad across the face. He smirked when he knocked the bastard out cold.

"Bill!" The Weasley on Thorfinn's other arm cried in fury before punching Thorfinn across the face.

Thorfinn whipped around trying to punch the other Weasley holding him. He caught the end of a walking staff to the face from Moody for his trouble.

"Stop struggling, Rowle." Granger's voice was calm compared to the fury of the others as they fought to contain him.

Thorfinn stilled when he felt a sudden pressure on his groin. Glancing past the ugly old bastard kneeling on his chest, Thorfinn spotted the witch of his teenaged fucking daydreams standing over him. She had one of those hooker-boots pressed just hard enough against his junk to warn against further fighting. He was thinking he must be fucked up in the head when he had to bite back the urge to thrust against the pressure there.

"You know, I'm not surprised you felt the need to use Amortentia," Thorfinn told her. "How else could a filthy little mudblood cunt like you ever hope to talk a man into bed, eh Princess?"

She trod hard on his crotch, her eyes flashing with hatred.

"I wasn't the one whose scent attracted the other, Death Eater. Amortentia or not, you're the one who wants to fuck this 'filthy little mudblood cunt'." Her expression was alight with hatred and fury and utter disgust when he met her gaze with a foul glare.

Thorfinn found himself thinking as three wands were suddenly trained on his face - all three firing Stunning spells at him – that he'd been right. The little witch he'd lured out of the bar  _was_  a firecracker.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Remus asked. He was limping as he approached her after climbing back through the window where he'd been kicked and looking a little worse for wear.

"I'm fine." Hermione waved away his concern. "Are you alright? You're bleeding, Remus."

She moved closer to swipe her thumb over a cut on his cheek, wincing at the sight of the wound. Remus twitched slightly at the touch, but waved away her wand when she pulled it, intent on healing him.

"I'll be fine. This close to the full moon, it'll heal in a minute," he said. "I'm sorry I didn't follow fast enough to prevent you from being molested."

Hermione sighed and shook her head at his concern.

"I'd hardly call it molested, Remus. And I distracted him enough to get the rest of you close enough to catch him."

"Let's get out of here," Moody said. He flicked his wand to levitate the huge Death Eater into an upright position. The Weasley brothers – Bill, Fred and George had all come along for the mission – sorted Rowle's limbs out enough to Side-Along Apparate him to Headquarters where he would be interrogated.

With Grimmauld Place compromised after Snape murdered Dumbledore, they'd set up shop in a safe-house outside of Bristol. It wasn't much, but there were enough rooms for everyone to come and go as needed. Hermione had been staying there with Harry and Ron between missions out in search of Horcruxes.

"You got his wand, Granger?" Moody asked as he limped closer.

"Yes. Do you want it?" Hermione asked. She held the weapon out to the ex-Auror.

"You hang onto it," Moody ordered. "And constant vigilance, you hear?"

Hermione nodded her head, frowning at Rowle's wand before tucking it into her pocket alongside her own. Remus offered her his arm to Side-Along Apparate her back to Headquarters and Hermione took it gratefully. She kind of liked the way he took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"You did well, Hermione," Remus said quietly. "No one will say it, I imagine, since none of the others were in the pub, but you did well. Didn't give yourself away at any point and pushed on even when you were reluctant. I'm guessing by the names for one another, that you and this Death Eater have a history?"

Hermione nodded her head and sighed heavily.

"He was a few years ahead of me at school and liked to torment the 'uppity little muggleborn'. He and a few of his friends often went out of their way to bump into me in the corridors and call me a 'mudblood' and otherwise make life unpleasant. Rowle, in particular, liked to refer to me as a prudish little mudblood after I got him in trouble when I caught him engaging in lewd acts where he shouldn't."

Remus nodded his head.

"You're aware of what it means that he seemed to still pick up your scent from the Amortentia spiking your perfume, yeah?" Remus asked her. He met her gaze, his soft green eyes threaded with the yellow of the wolf that glowed just a bit too bright to be considered natural.

"I'm aware," Hermione said grimly. "Though I imagine that seducing him into capture by the enemy will dampen his ardour, somewhat."

"When was the last time you saw him?" Remus asked, frowning.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

"He was three years ahead of me at school, so the end of fourth year, I suppose," Hermione replied. "He was one of the ones who came after Harry, Ron and I on our last venture out, before we realised the name had been tabooed. We were too busy hurling hexes to exchange niceties at that meeting."

"So almost four years since you last interacted with him?" Remus confirmed. Hermione wasn't sure she liked the way his brow furrowed slightly as he eyed her.

"I suppose so."

Remus didn't say anything else, but Hermione got the distinct impression that something about the information she'd given him was concerning the werewolf. She frowned as Remus Disapparated them both with a crack. The fact was that the notion of Rowle knowing her by scent four years after the last time they'd interacted didn't particularly bode well. Remus, or any other werewolf for that matter, might be able to recall a person by scent but Rowle was no werewolf – to Hermione knowledge, anyway. She didn't suppose it could mean anything good for her that his Amortentia scents reminded him of her.

They landed on the outskirts of the wards that guarded the safe house and Hermione let go of Remus's hand, watching the werewolf hurry forward to help the Weasley boys levitate Rowle inside the house while he was still unconscious. Ron appeared, his wand trained warily upon Remus.

"How many times did you have to show me how to perform the Patronus charm before I managed it?" he asked of the ex-professor.

Standard security questions being exchanged for the good of their overall protection was not something Hermione was in the mood for right then, no matter how necessary they might be.

"Twenty-three," Remus answered. Ron gave a sharp nod, allowing the werewolf past before turning his wand on Hermione.

"What was our last fight about?" he asked.

Hermione wracked her brain.

"You left your towel on the floor in the bathroom and I tripped on it," she said. "We had a fight about your poor standards of cleanliness."

Ron grinned a bit.

"What were the first words I ever spoke to you?" Hermione asked a security question of her own.

"Directly to me?" Ron clarified. "You told me I had dirt on my nose."

Hermione nodded, smiling at him in return before hurrying forward and letting the redhead pull her into a tight embrace. She hated the fact that, suddenly, the butterflies she'd been feeling whenever she touched Ron didn't seem at all interested in fluttering for him. Melting into his embrace nonetheless, Hermione breathed in the warm scent of his skin, noting the freshly mown grass scent that always seemed to cling to him. It had been a favourite of hers for a long time and cuddling into him made her feel like she'd come home.

"How did it go?" Ron asked.

"Did you see your brothers with the Death Eater we captured?" Hermione asked in return. She pulled back to frown at him slightly.

"Saw them dragging some big blond bastard inside but his face looked pretty banged up. I'm guessing he's responsible for the fact that Kingsley turned up with a screaming and terribly burned Mundungus? Was that Rowle? The one from the coffee shop?"

Hermione nodded her head slowly.

"The Death Eater we caught is Thorfinn Rowle," she explained. "Pyrotechnics seem to be a favourite attack strategy of his. He's the one who set Hagrid's hut on fire when they all burst in and Snape killed Dumbledore."

"Thought that was him." Ron frowned. "Didn't that one used to give you trouble at school?"

"Yes," she said quietly. "He threatened to murder me for seducing him out of the pub, only to set the Order on him."

"He won't have a chance," Ron assured her. "They'll grill him until he gives up everything Moody and the others want to know and then they'll wipe his memory, I imagine."

"I don't know if they'll be able to," Hermione said. A frown marred her brow as she entered the house. She paused briefly to brush her cheek against Harry's and hug him when he rushed over to her, intent on ensuring that she hadn't been injured during the mission.

Harry had been particularly vocal against the idea of Hermione being the one expected to seduce the Death Eater.

"Don't think we'll be able to do what, Granger?" Moody asked. He frowned at her from across the kitchen.

Molly was in the process of healing them all of the mild burns, the scrapes and the cuts they'd earned in the scrap with Rowle. Mad-Eye looked none too pleased about the burn salve Molly was smearing across his upper chest and the base of his neck.

"Ron was saying that when you've all extracted everything you can from Rowle's mind, you'll wipe his memory and let him go again," Hermione said. "I'm not sure you'll be able to wipe his memory. He… he was among the group that came after Harry, Ron and I on our last trip out. I had to use memory charms on the two Death Eaters we stunned – Rowle was one of them. His mind is… not amenable to memory charms. I had a lot of trouble wiping it of the notion of seeing us at all. I imagine that days or weeks being interrogated through less than friendly means will stick rather profoundly in his stubborn head."

"He's got a trap-mind?" Moody frowned.

"I didn't know there was a term for it." Hermione shrugged. "All I know is that I had no trouble wiping the mind of the other Death Eater that day, but shifting the recollection of even seeing us took me nearly half an hour inside Rowle's head."

Moody's scowl deepened.

"Where did you put him?" Hermione asked. She turned her gaze to Harry, expecting that he'd know.

"He's in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Bill and the twins were going to bind him to a chair and Bill was planning to do something to him to contain his magic so that, on the off chance that he can do wandless magic, he won't be able to for a few months. He's been working on some kind of charm too, that will prevent the Taboo on the name from activating their tracking charm if Rowle says it," Harry said.

Hermione nodded her head.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Harry asked when she frowned, her teeth worrying at her lip.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Hermione frowned at her best friend.

"Your lip is bleeding," Harry pointed out. He reached over and ran the pad of his thumb across her lower lip before showing it to her. It was smeared with blood.

"Oh. Um… I think he bit me," she muttered. Hermione reached up, wiping at the blood and frowning.

"He _bit_  you? Is that what you said?" Ron asked.

Hermione suspected the night was about to take a turn for the worse when Ron's ears and neck began to turn red while a deep frown crossed his face. They weren't a couple and had never discussed being one, but Hermione had suspected that much like she'd been nursing feelings for him recently, Ron had feelings for her too.

"I… um…" Hermione looked toward Remus for help.

"She was tasked with seducing a Death Eater, Ron," Remus said. He stood across the kitchen, his arms folded while Molly smeared healing gel across the cut on his cheek and the cuts on his hands – which Hermione hadn't noticed until now – from where he'd been hurled through the shop window. "Did you imagine she'd actually managed to lure him to the alley and distract him long enough for all of us to get the drop on him without having to get a bit physical?"

"Physical?" Harry growled. He turned his green eyes to Hermione, searching her face for confirmation.

"I had to snog him," Hermione sighed. She wiped more blood from her lip before suckling it between her teeth until the bleeding stopped. "It was really nothing to get upset over."

"Looked like something from where I was standing until Remus grabbed Rowle by the throat," Fred said.

Hermione turned toward the sound of his voice, spotting both twins and Bill entering the kitchen. Fred's right eye was swollen so much he didn't seem able to see out of it. George was sporting what looked like a bloodied lip and Bill's nose was clearly broken.

"Looked like she had her legs around his waist and her hands in his hair while she was snogging him," George agreed. "At least, from what I could see."

"If you could all stop reminding me of the wretched ordeal, that'd be great," Hermione grumbled. "I'm going to go and shower off the feel of Death Eater filth."

"Don't be long," Moody interrupted her. Hermione paused on her way out the door, having to shake Harry's hand from her arm and to push Fred out of her way to even try to leave. "We might be needing your help in the interrogation when our prisoner wakes up, Granger."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"That's not important right now, Harry." Remus spoke quietly from across the kitchen. "Suffice it to say that Hermione's particular brand of persuasion was what allowed us to subdue the bastard at all."

Hermione left the kitchen, but not before she heard Sirius ask, "What'd she do?"

"Stomped on his crotch," Remus answered. "And taunted him while she did it. Remind me to give you details later about the interesting experience it was to hear that witch drop the c-bomb."

Molly's gasp of indignant horror was all Hermione needed to hear before she could take no more. She hurried up the stairs without looking back, ignoring the sound of Harry and Ron attempting to follow her – no doubt intent on drilling her with questions of how everything had gone. She was thinking as she dashed into the bathroom – satisfied by the click of the lock – that the last thing she wanted was to have to listen to Ron's jealousy over the idea of her snogging a Death Eater.

She needed to process the fact that she'd just snogged Thorfinn Rowle. Worse, she needed to do something to bury the fact that she was ninety-eight percent sure she'd liked it.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione had showered and talked herself out of any notions about attraction to Rowle before the interrogation began. She returned downstairs, thinking about getting something to eat that would best counteract the drinks she'd consumed at the bar, only to find Remus, Sirius, Mad-Eye, Kingsley and Bill all sitting around the table and looking grim.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked. She frowned when they all looked over at her for a moment, every single one of them wearing contemplative expressions.

"Come and sit a minute, love," Sirius invited. He kicked out the empty chair across from himself.

"Is everything alright?" Hermione asked. She'd learned to be on her guard – Constant Vigilance – over the past year and a half. "Where are Harry and Ron?"

"The lads are upstairs," Sirius said. "Sit a minute, Hermione. It's important."

"Can I eat while I sit?" she asked. She suddenly didn't feel much like eating, but she was thinking that she still should, just to be on the safe side. She felt slightly tipsy from those drinks she'd had and she didn't want to go entering into any kind of important discussion.

"No," said Moody.

"Of course you can, Hermione," said Remus. He shot her a slightly strained smile. "I think there's some left over corned beef in the fridge. I can fix you something, if you like?"

"I can do it," Hermione said in a small voice. She suddenly wasn't at all sure she wanted food. "What's going on? Am I in trouble? I didn't mess something up during the mission, did I?"

"It's not that, love," Sirius told her before getting to his feet and beating her to the fridge. He fished out the silverside and a jar of pickles, flicking his wand to make the ingredients begin assembling themselves into a corned beef and pickle sandwich for her the way she liked – with extra pickles.

"Did Harry and Ron pitch another fit about me putting myself in danger with this mission?" she frowned.

"We want you to handle the interrogation, Granger," Mad-Eye told her.

Hermione blinked in shock.

"Me?"

Kingsley chuckled. "Don't look so surprised, Hermione. You did well during the capture and Remus tells us that, though you seemed reluctant to seduce this particular Death Eater, you handled yourself well in the bar to lure him outside of it."

"I don't see how that correlates to the notion of me quizzing Rowle or, I don't know, breaking his fingers to make him talk when he refuses. And trust me, he's going to refuse to cooperate."

"We'll do the finger breaking," Remus promised. His eyes were threaded with yellow again, as though the idea of hurting the Death Eater upstairs appealed to his inner beast. "We just want you to be the one asking the questions. Kingsley and Mad-Eye will coach you on what to say. Actually Mad-Eye will be asking Rowle a good many things as well."

"We need you to be the voice of reason, love," Sirius said. He handed her the sandwiches he'd prepared when they were ready to eat.

"I'm not sure I understand," Hermione said. She frowned at the five of them. "Don't you realise that putting me in the room with that man will simply devolve the situation from an interrogation to him insulting me for my blood status until you beat him unconscious once more?"

"Hermione, sweetheart," Bill began, "we need you to play good-cop – to an extent. He's going to be stubborn. He's going to be difficult. He's going to be a right pain in the bloody arse. But in that alley he stopped swinging when you started talking."

"He stopped moving because I had a three inch stiletto pressed to his bollocks and threatening to dig right in," Hermione corrected.

"He listened to you, Granger," Moody said. "He insulted you and riled you. He threatened you too, and don't think he won't pay for it, but the fact remains that even disguised and wearing that Amortentia spiked stuff, he could still smell  _you_ , girl."

"Maybe the perfume was just a bad batch?" Hermione said weakly, not at all liking where this might be leading.

"It wasn't," the five of them said in unison.

"We hoped that, Hermione," Remus said. He offered her another tight smile. "But every second you had it on you smelled like moonflowers and chocolate to me."

"Fresh baguettes and French vanilla to me," Bill told her.

"Lavender and green tea for me, love," Sirius said, tucking a loose curl behind her ear and steering her over to the table to sit down.

"But now you smell like you again. You know what that means?" Remus asked. He told her before she could answer. "Means you smell like caramel and jasmine blended together. Exactly what Rowle was smelling."

"He fancies you, witch," Moody said.

"I assure you, he doesn't," Hermione disagreed. "Maybe he could smell scents associated with me while I was wearing the perfume, but I'm sure there are plenty of people who enjoy those two scents. More to the point, Rowle loathes me. He has since Hogwarts."

"He calls you 'Princess'."

Hermione scowled. "I don't suppose it would matter if I informed you that he does so after shortening the title he fashioned for me during my first year? 'Swotty Mudblood Princess' – that's what he called me. A prudish, stuck-up swot with entirely too much self-righteousness for any mudblood to possibly be allowed. He and his boorish friends used to pull my pigtails, so to speak, and he always went out of his way to insult me"

"Don't call yourself a mudblood, love," Sirius admonished.

"It's what he said. I can see why you think this could be a helpful way to interrogate him without having to beat him bloody – if he fancied me or something he'd be more likely to cooperate. But he doesn't fancy me. He hates me. He nearly killed me in my second year. He tripped me when I was dashing down a moving staircase to reach the library. I rolled right off the end and would've plummeted to my death had one of the other staircases the next level down not been moving. It broke my fall, and I broke my leg in two places. There was no way to lay blame to Rowle, but I remember it."

"He listened to you and he didn't complain about you taking his wand, Granger," Moody argued. "You don't have to bloody like it, and you don't need to be defensive over it. But that bastard should've been demanding his wand back and trying to hex the lot of us. He also didn't hit you with the fire-blast that exploded out of him. He caught Mundungus with it. Should've hit you, witch. You were the one in his direct line of sight. Hell, the rest of us all caught the flames."

He showed her the burn on his chest. Kingsley held up his arms to show that he had burns on both forearms. Bill's hair had been singed off on one side, much shorter than on the other. Even Remus had a shiny new scar across his wrists despite being behind Rowle during the blast.

"You don't have a scratch on you but for that bitten lip from snogging him, lass," Kingsley pointed out.

Hermione looked down at herself.

"But he didn't know it was me…" she pointed out.

"He heard me call you 'Granger' and repeated your name," Moody said. "Then he blasted the lot of us. He was threatening to murder you, but you don't have a scratch on you. Maybe it was subconscious, but the bloke obviously feels  _something_  for you."

Hermione bit her lip before wincing at the pain when she re-opened her wound. She aimed her wand at herself to heal it before picking up her sandwich. Taking a big bite, Hermione tried to distract her mind from the things they were asserting.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked finally, when most of her sandwich was gone.

"Play the good cop. I'll drill him with uncomfortable shit he won't want to speak about and rough him up. You'll ask the things we really want to know. Where is You Know Who's base? What's he looking for abroad? How did they get into the Safe House they raided month? Is anyone still alive? Where are they being held?" Moody listed off the types of questions they wanted to answer in a low rumble.

"Do Harry and Ron know about this?" Hermione asked. She directed the question to Remus and Sirius, knowing that they'd have the softest spot for her two best friends.

"They know," Remus said. "Harry can't be seen, for obvious reasons. If Rowle manages to escape we don't want him to be able to report that Harry was seen associating with the rest of us. The Death Eaters will target us that much harder and we don't need that when we've got hostages to rescue and he's got Horcruxes to find."

"And Ron?"

Bill fielded that particular question.

"Ron is too close to the situation to offer any rational assistance," he said. "He lost his head at the lot of us for letting you end up in a position where you had to touch Rowle, let alone snog him."

"Boy's jealous and would only make himself a target or reveal something he shouldn't if we let him into the interrogation. Until Rowle's been dealt with, Harry and Ron will be going on a mission to Hogwarts in search of the Horcrux Potter thinks is there," Moody said.

"They're going on a hunt without me?" Hermione frowned. "Don't know you the type of mess they'll end up in if they go alone?"

"I'm going with them," Sirius spoke up.

"But you…" Hermione frowned at the handsome wizard. "I don't think that's a good idea. Actually it makes me more concerned for their safety. You might be willing to do anything to protect Harry, but you're reckless, Sirius. Dumbledore benched you for a reason. You go out there and something happens that puts Harry in danger, and you'll end up dead. Do you know what losing his godfather will do to Harry?"

Sirius narrowed his eyes on her for her blunt speech.

"He'll never lose me. And since Moony's needed with his wife, I'm going with them. They'll get themselves killed on their own. I might be reckless, but I'm bloody handy in a pinch and before I was arrested, I was an Auror. I can handle myself. Besides, it's bloody Hogwarts. No one knows the halls and secret corridors of that place better than me."

"That may be," Hermione said. "There's just one problem."

"Which is?" Sirius demanded.

"Snape's the Headmaster," Hermione reminded them all. "There's certainly no love lost between the two of you and I hardly think it would be wise to put either of you anywhere near the other, given recent events."

Sirius made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat.

"Snape will kill you on sight, Sirius," Hermione said. "And you want to murder him just as much. Sending you into that school is a wretched idea."

"Right now, it's the best plan we've got. Interrogating Rowle could take weeks, Hermione." Remus looked like he didn't like the idea either. "I'll be joining them as soon as I'm not needed to interrogate Rowle but I can't be gone long, not with Dora so heavily pregnant."

"Enough arguing," Moody growled. "You'll be with us until Rowle's interrogation is complete, Granger. Get used to it. "

Hermione scowled at the idea if being separated from Harry and Ron. Especially when she'd have to tolerate Rowle in exchange.

"Fine, but when you all realise what a waste of time having me there is, I'm going back to hunting Horcruxes with the boys."

No one objected. Hermione polished off the rest of her sandwich while the wizards got to their feet. Sirius looked annoyed with her but Hermione refused to apologize or to take back what she'd said. She followed them as they traipsed up the stairs led by Moody. The last thing she wanted to do was to see Rowle again so soon when she couldn't seem to convince her lips to stop tingling from his kisses.

She imagined he was going to be a smug git about it, too.

When they entered the room where he was being held, Hermione spotted him. He was still unconscious and had been bound to a chair in the centre of the room. Even unconscious and bound, he was intimidating. His blond hair was loose, hanging in long, messy arcs to sprawl about his shoulders. The length and the golden hue of it made him look rather like a fierce lion, Hermione thought. He was bloodied from being hit in the face by Moody, and his skin bore a few scorch marks from the close range of the Stunning spells the Weasley boys had used to incapacitate him.

She couldn't help noticing his hulking build once more. Bulging biceps, broad shoulders and long, powerful legs made him seem very much something to avoid trifling with. Hermione chose to ignore the fact that her stomach - and something a little lower, too - gave a little flutter at the very masculine sight of him.

She watched as the men arranged themselves around the room. Remus and Moody stood directly in front of Rowle's chair, right where they would be in his line of sight. Kingsley moved over to lean against the windowsill. Bill closed the bedroom door and warded it against noise escaping the room and against anyone interrupting the interrogation.

Sirius strode to the back of the room and leaned against the wall looking intimidating with his Azkaban prison identification number tattooed onto his neck and all the muscle definition he'd lost due to lack of sustenance or the will to live regained and then built upon. He still looked small-ish compared to Rowle, but nonetheless intimidating.

Hermione, unsure where she was meant to stand, arranged herself against the wall behind Remus. She felt vulnerable dressed in her tank top and jeans but there was no time to change now. Not with the way Moody strode forward and slapped Rowle across the face.

"Wake up, you sorry son of a bitch," the ex-Auror growled.

Rowle grunted but didn't lift his head. Moody hit him again. Hermione winced at the way Rowle's head drifted to one side before he snorted and awoke with a snarl. His blue eyes were bleary but hate-filled as he tried to get his bearings. Hermione would've felt sorry for him if he wasn't such a bastard and if he wasn't a Death Eater.

"Fuck," he cursed foully. The ropes tying him to the chair hissed when he flexed, testing them. "Where the fuck is my wand?"

"Never you mind," Moody snarled. He jabbed Rowle with his staff hard enough that the chair rocked back onto two legs before dropping to the ground once more. "Where's your master, come-bucket?"

"Fuck you, Moody," Rowle spat. His eyes danced around the room, taking in the sight of Remus, Kingsley and Bill. Sirius, who stood behind him, went unnoticed.

Hermione fought the urge to flinch when those brilliant blue eyes settled on her, practically smouldering with hatred. She felt naked when he stared at her; that itch between her shoulder blades he'd always inspired with his gaze returned and Hermione twitched slightly, trying to alleviate the sensation.

"I'm going to enjoy your pain, Princess," he said. His smirk did not befit the situation he was in.

"You're locked in, Rowle," Hermione said without prompting, keeping her tone flat and her face expressionless. "Your magic has been bound and your wand has been confiscated. Answer our questions and we'll let you go."

"I'd rather cut my own dick off," Rowle retorted.

Hermione sighed and looked away.

"That can be arranged, boy," Moody said. He hit Rowle with his staff again. "Tell us where Lord Fuckhole is hiding."

"Never."

Hermione flinched when Remus lunged with lycanthropic speed and hit Rowle hard enough that she heard his cheekbone fracture. Thorfinn roared with rage and pain for a brief few seconds before he gritted his teeth. There was a cut on his cheek from the blow, and his eye began to blacken rapidly. He lifted his gaze back to hers, seeming to ignore Remus and the others.

"You think there's anything these useless fucks can actually do to break me? To make me talk?" His smirk was cold and crooked thanks to his rapidly swelling face. "Tell me, Princess, you're bright, yeah? How does one go about breaking a memory charm?"

Hermione's brow furrowed.

"The only way to break a memory charm is through extreme pain. The torture of breaking them usually drives the victim mad before the charm is broken and the memory is recovered."

He nodded his head slowly.

"Was a delight to see you and Potter at that coffee shop the other week," Rowle said. His gaze never left hers as he spoke and Hermione knew he was pleased when all the blood ran from her face at his knowledge of their location during their last interaction.

"You remember that?"

Thorfinn actually snorted in derision.

"You really think, after enduring hours of the Cruciatus curse, that there's anything these pathetic bastards can do? A broken down ex-Auror with one foot in the grave? A werewolf too scared to run with the pack? And what? A rogue Auror and a Curse Breaker?" Rowle laughed coldly. "Princess, the Dark Lord himself tortured me for the memories you took. Bellatrix took her turn too. Gets creative, that one. She might loathe muggles, but she's got this trick where she uses her wand in one hand with the torture curse and a wicked little blade with the other. Come on over here and lift my shirt. Take a look at her handiwork and then you tell me if you really think there's anything these fools can do to make me talk?"

Hermione's eyes were wide and her heart was beating out of time in her chest.

Moody snatched up the front of Thorfinn's shirt, baring his tights abs and strong chest. The fine treasure trail if golden hair leading south from his navel drew Hermione's involuntary gaze. She kicked herself when Rowle began to chuckle smugly, obviously noticing the direction her eyes and thoughts travelled for one terribly long, sinful minute.

"Do you think a few nicks with a knife is going to hurt more than these?" Remus asked. Hermione flinched when he flicked both hands and lethal two inch claws grew from every nailbed.

Rowle's gaze left Hermione to eye the claws for a moment. Hermione saw his left eye - the one not yet swollen shut - twitch with what she suspected was fear.

"Bellatrix's knife was nothing compared to these. See?"

Thorfinn hissed in a sharp breath when Remus slashed five fingers' worth of werewolf claws across his chest, each one digging in deep and leaving bloody gouges behind.

"Tell us where that snake-eyed fucker is hiding, Rowle or every inch of you will be scar tissue -  _if_  you survive."

"You already know where the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters are based," Rowle said through gritted teeth. Hermione watched blood trickle from his wounds, washing down his chest and painting his tawny skin crimson.

"Confirm it for us," Moody snarled.

Rowle looked like it was the last thing he wanted to do. When Remus lunged and slashed him a second time, Rowle began to look like he might actually kill them all the minute he got loose. Hermione watched him carefully, trying to get a read on whether or not he planned to answer their questions. She didn't imagine he'd mind handing over information they already knew, or that would further upset them.

"Malfoy Manor," he spat.

Moody didn't look pleased by the idea of his cooperation, no matter that they wanted answers out of him.

"What happened to the people kidnapped from the Order Safe-House?"

Rowle's smirk turned feral.

"Did you actually think I'd cooperate that easily?" he asked.

Remus slashed him again, a snarl of his own escaping at the insolence of the wretched Death Eater. This time Rowle kept his exclamations of pain behind his teeth, but Hermione could see the flash of pure hatred in his eyes.

"You do realise that cooperating will be much more effective than being difficult about giving us the answers we want, don't you Rowle?" Hermione asked quietly. Those blue eyes of his flashed to her face once more, hatred glittering in their depths.

"You think there's anything this lot can do to me that won't pale in comparison to what the Dark Lord will do if I talk?" he challenged.

"Of course," Hermione said immediately. She noted the way the rest of the men in the room, the Order members including Moody, all looked at her carefully for her answer. "See, my understanding of your Dark Lord is that he gets very upset with those he considers traitors and he eliminates them. Now, if it were assumed that you'd talked and we let you go, I imagine he would torture you awhile until playing with you got boring or you went mad. And then he'd kill you and that would be that."

She let a cool smile crawl across her lips as she moved a little closer.

"But us? Well, we're not likely to kill you, Superstar. Not really our style unless you get in our way. But you're  _not_  in our way. You're right where we want you. So that torture we were talking about the Dark Lord administering before tiring of you? That will be like a daily dose of humiliation and pain for you until such time that you give us what we want.  _We_ have no cause for killing you, Rowle. Not when you're of more use to us alive. The Dark Lord might resort to baser and more painful forms of torture but with him you know that, at the end, there'll be reprieve for you in death."

Hermione moved closer until she could lean down to his eye level – not that much lower than her own standing height thanks to his enormous stature. She stared into his eyes coldly, her voice devoid of emotion, her expression blank but for the distaste she felt for him.

"Now, you tell me, Death Eater. Do you  _really_  think a round of torture and a quick death would truly be  _more_  painful than what we'll do to you? Do you  _really_ think, after what might end up being years spent in our captivity, you won't be wishing you'd just given us what we want and gone on your way? See, when it really boils down to it, we don't even have to hurt you. You're a prisoner of the Order of the Phoenix. If we stick you in solitary confinement and only let you interact with one person for the next five years – leaving you alone, cold, hungry and scared the rest of the time – eventually you'll get attached. Do you know what Stockholm Syndrome is, Superstar?"

Hermione would swear Rowle paled ever so slightly even as he curled his lip at her hatefully.

"Ah, so you've heard of it," Hermione purred. "Now, let me paint you a little picture,  _Thorfinn_. Let's say that instead of letting you out of this room ever again, we keep you locked up. Let's say that all these fine gentleman so willing to hurt you for what they want, will go on their merry way and continue tormenting your colleagues, flouting you Master's plans and fighting for the good of the world. Let's say that we leave you in here by yourself for a month before, one day, I wander in and ask you a few questions."

Rowle opened his mouth like he might argue but Hermione spoke over the top of him.

"Let's say that you've been kept cold and barely alive. You're hungry and you're lonely and you're beginning to think that you'll go mad if you don't talk to someone – to  _anyone._  How long do you think it would take before you'd answer my questions, just to have someone to talk to?" Hermione asked conversationally. "How much faster do you think you'd cave if I rewarded you with food and warmth as well as company whenever you cooperated?"

"You won't break me," Rowle said sternly.

Hermione laughed coldly.

"I  _will_."

She caught the way Sirius shivered in place behind Rowle, his eyes fixed on Hermione as she leaned closer to Rowle and lifted her hand to smooth it along his stubbled jaw.

"By the time we let you out of your cage, Thorfinn Rowle, you're going to  _love_  us."


	4. Chapter 4

Thorfinn knew he wasn't the only once shocked by Granger's threats. He'd had the feeling that she was meant to be playing the good cop, the voice of reason to the rage and irrationality of the others intent of torturing the information out of him. Her cold promises, however, seemed to have sparked a new idea in the eyes of the grizzled old Auror so intent on breaking him. He got the feeling she probably wasn't going to like the idea, either.

Not when that lot were through. They didn't have the time to break him the way they wanted, not if the wanted to save the captives the Dark Lord had taken. Not that there was much left of them to save. Thorfinn snorted quietly to himself, wincing at the way the movement pulled at the open gashes on his chest from the fucking werewolf.

"Princess, there isn't enough liquor in the world to make me love you," he sneered into Granger's face, hating himself for the twinge down deep at the feel of her soft hand cupping his stubbled cheek. She was so close, standing between his knees as she peered at him, thinking herself the victor. If his legs weren't bound to the chair, he'd snap them closed around her to prevent her from escaping.

She needed to learn that playing with Death Eaters wasn't for the faint hearted and that bluffing was never a good idea unless she was willing to go through with it. She smirked coldly in reply.

"We'll see, Superstar," she murmured. "Unless you'd rather tell these lovely gentleman everything they need to know?"

Thorfinn gritted his teeth at the coy little way she flipped her loose curls over one shoulder. They were still damp and she smelled fresh from a shower, that jasmine and caramel blend of her skin teasing his nose and making him wish his hands were free. Mudblood or not, she kissed like the fucking devil and Thorfinn was thinking that for all his hatred and his prejudice, if ever he were to make an exception and risk the slander and the taunts over shagging a mudblood, he'd do it for this one.

The little bitch had always had a way of getting under his skin, even when she'd been a dumb kid at Hogwarts with him, tattling on him and picking fights with him she had no business starting. All grown up, he wanted to shove her up against a wall and fuck her stupid. Hells, he could still feel the tingle of having her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands knotted in his hair. And Thorfinn was thinking that was a problem. It wouldn't do to let the little bitch think she had a chance at moving him to answer their questions.

"Tell us where the captives are being held," Lupin growled at him, his claws dripping blood and his eyes entirely wolf.

Thorfinn didn't know the cunt well enough to know if he was usually like this, but it didn't scare him. He was a Death Eater, often forced into interact with Fenrir Greyback. A scarier werewolf had never existed, he was certain. That bastard was stone fucking cold and a cannibal to boot. This one was too weak to run with the pack and too hung up on being human to terrify Thorfinn Rowle, even if he did have wicked sharp claws made for cleaving flesh from bone.

"There's not enough left of their sanity to bother saving them," Thorfinn sneered in reply. They all tensed at his answer.

"Where are they, boy?" Moody snarled.

"Hell."

He caught the blunt end of the bastard's walking staff across the face for his answer. Thorfinn bit back the urge to shout again, even as he felt blood begin to run from a split in his eyebrow. Just what he fucking needed. He was thinking about telling them the gory details of all the wretched things those captives had been enduring, taunting them with the knowledge that their women had been fucked into a stupor by every bastard who wanted to wet his dick. Hell, he'd been ready to tell them that half the men had caught the same fate, brutally arse-fucked until they shit blood. Right up until that little fucking bitch plopped herself down in his lap.

She perched on one of his powerful thighs, proving all over again just how petite she was when he could barely feel her slight weight. From the way the rest of the bastard's in the room tensed at the action, he knew she hadn't run any of her ideas by them when it came to interrogating him. Hell, from the way they were all eyeing her, they were getting a look at a side of the uppity little mudblood they'd never seen before. And not all of them looked pleased about it.

Weasley's eyes narrowed as she made herself at home on Thorfinn's lap and Lupin looked like he wanted to pluck her right back up and carry her off to safety. Thorfinn himself noticed that for all their discomfort, she didn't seem put out or nervous in his presence. That surprised him. He'd tried to kill her more than once; the bitch should be afraid of him. He wondered if it was her faith in his inability to escapes his bonds that made her bold.

"Please tell us where they are, Thorfinn," she said softly, that hand of hers upon his cheek tipping his head until he met her gaze.

Thorfinn curled his lip when it occurred to him that she'd changed since he'd graduated Hogwarts. The unruly frizz and her buck teeth had been replaced by a perfect smile and wild curls. She was a pretty little thing, in a mousy sort of way. Her big brown eyes were wide and innocent seeming as he met her gaze in one fatal mistake.

She dove into his mind with practiced ease, making a throb of pain thrum behind his eyes as she flitted about inside his head. She was tricky about it; if it weren't for that sparkle of pain that he'd learned to associate with someone practicing Legilimency on him, he might not have known she was in his head. Without his wand, he couldn't do much to repel her and Thorfinn gritted his teeth as she rummaged delicately for her answers.

He tried throwing up distractions, feeding her images of the torture her people had suffered, the wretched things he'd witnessed, and the terrible things he would do to her the minute he got free. She shoved them all aside after precursory examination, digging deeper inside her head.

"Where is Voldemort, Superstar?" she murmured and Thorfinn growled in the back of his throat like a mutt when the image floated, unbidden, to the forefront of his mind. She examined it carefully, taking note of the details of Malfoy Manor and the ways into the looming building.

"Where are the prisoners?" she whispered and Thorfinn found she'd wiggled her way under his shields with one innocuous little action. Perched on one powerful thigh, she'd turned into him to better dive into his mind and her leg was pressing snugly against his groin, creating friction and distracting his focus as she shifted, trying to find the answers they wanted.

She found them all, there inside his head. Everything the Dark Lord would murder him for sharing – their location, the state of the prisoners, some of the Dark Lord's plans, the identity of some of his fellow Death Eaters and sympathizers to the causse. Thorfinn snarled out a curse, unable to throw her from his mind. Instead, he did the only thing he could manage while bound to chair with a sneaky little bitch crawling around inside his head even as she rubbed his dick.

He head-butted her.

She fell out of his lap with a shout, leaving him with a nasty migraine thanks to her sudden ejection from his mind and the throb of having head-butted someone. Blood spurted from her broken nose as she sprawled upon the ground at his feet even as the werewolf's claws closed over his throat, digging deep into the flesh and making him wince.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Weasley asked her, hurrying closer to help her to her feet.

For her part, she didn't look surprised by what he'd done. In fact, she was eyeing him coolly. Blood ran over her lips and down to drip from her chin, but she didn't wipe at it. She didn't look angry, exactly, and he supposed that really ought to have been a warning in itself. He knew he had a hard head. She had to have a splitting headache after that, and her nose was definitely broken.

Thorfinn smirked at her coldly.

"You're going to regret that, Rowle," she said quietly. She waved Weasley away, wiping at the blood running over her lips and catching it before any more of it could drip form her chin to stain her clothing.

"I'll never regret causing you pain, Princess," Thorfinn replied cockily.

Her smile was cold and cruel in return, setting off warning bells inside his head.

"You will," she disagreed. "See, there's a little something we forgot to mention. Something that might just sway you to see things our way."

Thorfinn raised an eyebrow, not liking the way the witch grinned, blood on her teeth, even as she flicked her wand to heal her own nose.

"Granger, don't you dare tell him," Moody growled, cutting her off before she could speak.

"Why not? I got most of the answers out of his head. He was telling the truth. There's not much left worth saving. Those we do save will be traumatised and probably beg for death."

"You know where they are?" Lupin asked. "You got inside his head?"

She nodded. "Most of them are being kept at Malfoy Manor, deep in the dungeons below it. There's a way in from the back of the property. A tunnel into the catacombs under the Manor that the Death Eaters use to come and go whilst committing their acts of depravity. I can get us in."

"You'll never get across the wards, mudblood," Thorfinn spoke. His curiosity was nagging at him now, needing to know what they'd planned on telling him that might make him regret hurting her. "The minutes you set foot inside those wards, you'll burn from the inside out."

"If that were true, the other muggleborns I saw inside your head would've already been dead," she retorted.

Thorfinn gritted his teeth to know the bitch was so clever. Fuck, he hated her.

"You know how to get in?" Moody growled. "How many would we need?"

"To get in and defeat any guards or any of the other people loitering about down there?" Granger shrugged. "Maybe eight people. To rescue everyone inside? To haul the mindless and the broken out of that pit? A dozen at least. Maybe more."

Thorfinn realised from the way she spoke that this certainly wasn't the same little witch he remembered from Hogwarts. That witch had been uppity, cocky, assured of her own cleverness and a complete pain in his arse. No, this witch was hardened by war. She didn't sob over the state of the prisoners and the things his brethren had done to them. She didn't vomit at the horror of all they'd endured or all his twisted colleagues had inflicted upon them.

If he didn't know any better, he'd almost think that she was on the verge of saying it might not be worth rescuing those prisoners from their grim fate. Hell, she looked a little like she wanted to say they'd be better off dead and that any infiltration mission should be for the sake of putting the poor bastards out of their misery, rather than any attempt at getting them out of there undetected without losing a few good fighters of their own. From the look on Weasley's face, that idea was beyond comprehensible.

Moody, Lupin and the other Auror, though? They all gritted their teeth. They'd lived through one war already. They knew the horror of such things and they likely knew that trying to rescue those lost souls would be a suicide mission that wouldn't gain them much but a bunch of drooling, screaming, crying bodies that would need to be stuffed away somewhere and protected. They could hardly be taken on too St Mungo's and left in the care of Healers. The hospital had been infiltrated. Anyone brought in was assessed by the Death Eaters.

The world wasn't the same as it had once been and nowhere was safe. The prisoners his brethren had broken were little more than dead weight. Afflicted flesh that needed to be removed before it could poison the rest of the limb. The idea that Little Miss Champion of the Light could see that unsettled and aroused Thorfinn in equal measure.

"Where's his boss?" Mood growled at her.

"Malfoy Manor, most of the time," Granger shrugged, siphoning the blood off her face with another flick of her wand. "Travelling the rest. Recruiting wizards from the continent for the cause to help fight us. Seeking world domination. I got a list of faces for sympathizers and other people who are Death Eaters, those we didn't already know about."

"Good. Wasn't so hard, was it, scum?" Moody growled, sneering at him while Thorfinn scowled, gritting his teeth. He wanted to try and lie. To tell them the information was false, but the little bitch had been inside his head well enough to figure out that he'd be lying.

"Fuck you, Moody," Thorfinn retorted. "Princess, you better pray I never get out of these bonds, or you're dead."

"Oooh," she sneered. "I'm  _so_  scared!"

With a shake of her head, she turned his back on him and left the room. Thorfinn supposed it didn't exactly bode well for him that she pulled the door closed behind her with a snap, leaving the irate wizards inside along with him, all of them determined to make him pay for headbutting a girl.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione pressed her back against the door when she reached the hall, breathing hard and trying to control the dizziness she felt. She winced at the throbbing ache in her head and gingerly lifted her hand to touch her tender nose. Merlin's Demons, being head-butted hurt! She'd wanted to strangle Rowle the minute he'd done it, breaking her poor nose in the process. She'd also wanted to curl into a ball and cry. She'd refused to do either, digging deep for the sense of self-control and cold, hard logic that would allow her to refrain for one reason, and one reason only.

She didn't want to give the smug bastard the satisfaction.

He'd done it entirely to goad her and to scare her. That, and to eject her from his mind before she could stumble upon any more of his secrets, but that felt secondary to his need simply to provoke her. Hermione loathed the man more than she could ever voice. She wanted to turn around, march right back in there, and rip every wretched gold strand from his stupid head. And then she wanted to peel his skin off a little at a time and use it to bind her grimoire.

Muttering foul curses under her breath, Hermione wiped at her face, making sure she'd removed all the blood. She'd need to change too, before Harry or Ron could see, otherwise they were liable to bust in there are murder Rowle themselves. Which, while amusing for her, wouldn't be useful to the rest of the Order. She knew Moody had plans to further use him, though she imagined that, any minute now, they'd be done beating the stuffing out of Rowle and would come in search of her to find the answers they'd need to rescue the prisoners.

Hermione wasn't so sure they should bother and she glared at her own reflection in the mirror when she had the thought. She was supposed to be about the sanctity of human life and about ensuring that innocent people weren't the victim of such terrible things. But some of the things she'd seen those poor people suffer in Rowle's memories made her think that they might beg for death themselves. Hell, some of them had been.

"Is it true?" a voice asked from the doorway and Hermione looked beyond her reflection to the strapping blond-haired wizard leaning against the frame.

"Is what true?" she asked, not at all pleased at the sight of him.

"That the Order captured Thorfinn tonight?" the boy asked, eyeing her coolly.

Hermione met his blue-eyed gaze, glaring at the sight of Bjarke Rowle. Thorfinn Rowle's younger brother. Hermione wasn't a fan of him any more than she was of his big brother, though she tolerated the little shit because he'd chosen not to follow in his elder brother's footsteps. Instead of becoming a Death Eater, Bjarke had asked to join the Order.

He'd been in the same year as her as school, in fact. Slytherin, naturally. And he looked just a bit too much like Thorfinn for Hermione's peace of mind.

"What's it to you?" Hermione asked. "I thought you denounced your big brother for the Death Eater scum he is?"

Bjarke curled his lip away from his teeth to glare at her.

"He's still my brother, Granger. And honestly, if there's some chance that he can be kept away from the likes of his Death Eater buddies for the rest of the war, I'd appreciate it. He might be fucking arsehole and a fool for joining Lord Fuckface, but he's still my brother."

"Brother or not, he's always been an arsehole."

"Maybe to you," Bjarke retorted, his blue eyes flashing. "But there was a time when, to me, he was a great older brother who looked out for me and made sure I got by alright. So fucking tell me if he's been captured. And if not, tell me why you're covered in blood."

Hermione narrowed her eyes on him.

"What? You just assume that I'm covered in blood because Thorfinn's been caught. Such faith in Brother Dearest," Hermione snarked, in no mood for being polite when her head was killing her both from being head-butted and having her nose broken, but also from using Legilimency on Rowle. The bastard had a hard head and it wasn't easy to break into his mind, or to raid it.

"Rumour is you seduced him at a bar in Knockturn Alley tonight and snogged the hell out of him before he was taken down by the Order," Bjarke retorted and Hermione hated herself when her cheeks pinkened at the reminder.

"Rumour, huh?" Hermione asked. "Seems more like you've been eavesdropping on Harry and Ron again."

"It's true, then," Bjarke said, his brow furrowing. "He's really been caught. What did he do to you? You've showered since you got back, so why are you covered in blood again?"

"He head-butted me," Hermione sighed.

"What the hell were you thinking getting close enough that he could head-butt you?" Bjarke asked, startled even as he pushed away from the doorframe and strode into the room.

Hermione squeaked in protest when he took hold of her shoulders and spun her to face him.

"I was using Legilimency on him. Which was most easily done after distracting him by making him think I might snog him again," Hermione admitted to the other boy.

Bjarke shook his head, taking up a wash cloth and wetting it under some warm water before he began wiping gently at her face. Hermione blinked at him in surprise. The truth was, she and Bjarke didn't get along. He was here in this safe-house they were all currently using as their base because it was actually owned by his family. His mother and father had died before the war began and up until the summer before his seventh year, he'd been raised by Thorfinn. At least, he had until Thorfinn had gone on the run after breaking into Hogwarts, killing a fellow Death Eater and an Order member, setting Hagrid's Hut on fire, and fleeing with the rest of them. He'd been deeded this place in their Will and Testaments, and he'd offered it to the Order after he graduated.

Harry and Ron didn't trust him because he was a Slytherin, but Bjarke had gone to McGonagall – his best subject being Transfiguration had lent him a relationship with the Professor – and asked if there was somewhere he could go or something he could do to avoid ending up forced to follow in his brother's footsteps. He'd once been something of a friend to Draco Malfoy and had seen how fucked up Draco's life had become. He'd done what he could to avoid the same fate.

"What are you doing?" Hermione demanded, trying to pull away from the gentle grip he had on her chin as he cleaned her face up.

"Just don't struggle, witch," Bjarke ordered, very carefully smoothing the warm cloth over her bottom lip and then across the underside of her nose.

Hermione whimpered at the touch, the heat feeling good but the entire area tender and sore.

"He broke it, didn't he?" Bjarke asked.

Hermione nodded, sighing softly.

"Did you let him see you cry?"

"Of course not. That was what he wanted," she replied quietly. "He's always hated me. I'm sure you remember."

"Hated?" Bjarke asked, a little smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as he raised one golden eyebrow. "I don't know that I'd say he hated you, Granger. After all, he snogged you tonight, right?"

"Oh, please. He tried to kill me, Bjarke."

"Tonight?"

"No, at school. Before he graduated. Second year. He shoved me from a moving staircase and I fell two stories, breaking both my legs," Hermione replied.

Bjarke frowned to hear that. Hermione supposed he must not have known.

"I've never understood the animosity between you two. He usually never pits his will against someone like that unless they've wronged him," Bjarke said.

"I caught him getting a blowjob in the library during our first year and tattled on him," Hermione sighed. "After that he made it his mission in life to make my every day a living hell."

Bjarke snorted. "Yep, that'd do it. You need bruise salve on these or your two lap-dogs will see the marks and kill him."

He laid down the wash-cloth and smoothed his thumbs across her cheeks under her eyes.

"They're blackening?" Hermione asked.

"Mhmm," he said. Hermione watched him reach past her to dig some of the salve out of the vanity cupboard behind her, unscrewing the lid and dipping his fingers inside.

"You're helping me in the hopes of having me help him, aren't you?" Hermione sighed, holding still and letting him smooth the salve across her cheeks.

"You'd have made a decent Slytherin, you know?" Bjarke replied.

"Thank Merlin for small mercies that I wasn't Sorted there," Hermione muttered.

"You'd have landed in my bed before fifth year, I'm sure," Bjarke smirked in reply.

"I very much doubt it," she rolled her eyes. "And must you, with the mental imagery? I already feel like vomiting after digging around in your brother's head."

"How else am I to take your mind off plotting to murder Thorfinn?" Bjarke asked, grinning wickedly.

"Not by discussing the notion of me being anywhere near your bed."

"We both know you'd have had a thing for me, Granger."

"Please, if I  _had_  been sorted into Slytherin, I'm sure someone like Nott would've been much more my type," Hermione rolled her eyes, regretting it when it made her headache worse.

"Yeah, right," Bjarke laughed. "You like blonds. It'd have been a toss-up between me and Draco. And Draco's an arsehole."

"Oh, because you're not?" she challenged.

"I'm an arsehole, too," he conceded. "But I'm manlier than Malfoy, and I don't have that sneering voice that you got so used to hearing call you a 'mudblood'. You'd have ended up in bed with me after a Quidditch match. Fourth year, I reckon, and you'd have been torn between horror to know you'd shagged the brother of an old enemy, and wanting to climb right back on board and go again."

"You're delusional," Hermione informed him.

"I'm realistic," he countered. "I know I look enough like him that you're kind of thinking about shagging me just to rub it in his face the next time you're asked to interact with him."

Hermione blushed.

She'd be lying if she denied it. The fact was that much like his brother, Bjarke was handsome. Tall. Built. Overbearing in personality and strength. He wasn't as big as Thorfinn, yet. But he was catching up rapidly. She would admit that both of them were handsome and that he was right; she did prefer blond men.

"You're saying you'd have attempted to seduce me in fifth year if I'd been in Slytherin?" Hermione asked, trying to distract him from the idea.

Bjarke snorted.

"I  _did_  try, even though you were in Gryffindor, witch."

"What?" Hermione asked. "When?"

"Sixth year," he shrugged. "I approached you in the library under the pretence of needing a book you were using and asked if you had plans for the next Hogsmeade weekend."

"That doesn't count as attempted seduction," Hermione rolled her eyes. "That was just curiosity."

"Gyrffindors are so woefully blunt and so bloody thick that to you, it probably seemed that way. Do you remember what you told me?"

"That I wasn't going anywhere near Hogsmeade because it was a pathetic excuse for horny teenagers to fling themselves at one another in dark corners of the pub or to snog over candlelit tables in Puddifoot's away from the prying eyes of the teachers. And that I'd rather curl up in the back of the library than be forced to witness gormless apes attempting mouth-to-mouth in a public setting," Hermione replied, smirking.

"Got to say, I'd never been shot down with quite so vivid an image before that day," Bjake laughed. "Of course, you were just bitter over Weasley dating that bimbo instead of you and jealous as hell that he was snogging her in dark corners and not you."

"Was not," Hermione denied immediately.

"You were," he assured her. "And the whole bloody school knew it."

"Did you only ask because you thought I was angry enough to lash out at Ron in return?" she raised her eyebrows in challenge.

He smirked.

"I only had the stones to ask because I thought you'd agree for that reason," he replied. "I doubt you recall that I actually joined you in the library on the next Hogsmeade weekend."

Hermione frowned. She vaguely remembered sitting in the back of the library, curled into her favourite couch, while the huge blond boy wandered around looking for a book before settling down nearby to where she'd been sitting.

"You… fancied me?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows shooting to her hairline as her eyes jerked up to hold his.

His mouth twisted a little, caught between and smile and a frown.

"I didn't join the Order at the end of sixth year just because I didn't want to end up like Thorfinn, Granger," he admitted. "And don't look so surprised. Pretty much everyone in our year fancied you in sixth year."

"I doubt that."

"Potter and Weasley don't count. They're thick, those two. The rest of us could see how you'd filled out and how pretty you'd become. And some of us had to contend with your wickedly sharp tongue and dry wit. We might've all laughed about what a know-it-all you were when we were third years, but you should never underestimate the appeal of an intelligent and powerful witch, Granger. Trust me, I wasn't the only one interested in getting into your knickers that year."

Hermione blinked in shock, barely noticing when he snagged the hem of her blood-stained shirt and pulled it off over her head, leaving her in just her camisole.

"Put this on," he said, handing her his jumper after pulling it off. "Before Potter and Weasley burst in here and see that blood."

Hermione took the jumper automatically, pulling it on over her head and noticing how warm it was.

"You're saying you joined the Order because you fancied me?" she asked.

Bjarke shrugged. "It was a factor. Now, stop looking stunned. I need you to focus."

Hermione frowned at him.

"Is Thorfinn going to be alright, Granger?" he asked.

"I imagine so. They're likely pummelling him right now, but they won't kill him, I don't think."

"What are they going to do to him once they're finished with him?" Bjarke wanted to know, his frown deepening.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "I got most of the information we needed right out of his head. They might let him go. They might kill him. They might hold him prisoner somewhere until the war is over. I threatened him with Stockholm syndrome to make him change his ways."

Bjarke's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Can you do anything to make sure he survives?" the boy asked her.

"Why would I, Bjarke. You're forgetting how much I hate your brother if you actually think I care what happens to him."

"What happened to wanting the best for everyone and championing human rights?" Bjarke challenged.

"It got a little pointless when I saw the type of things some of those Death Eaters did to the prisoners they took from the other safe-houses," Hermione replied. "And my tolerance for your brother was already low  _before_  he head-butted me, broke my nose, and threatened that if he ever got loose, he'd kill me."

"Fuck!" Bjarke cursed, his hands balling into fists.

He looked angry, but Hermione suspected it was to hide the worry he felt for his brother. Bastard and a Death Eater or not, they were family. Hermione knew it wasn't likely something he wanted to contemplate that his brother might die for his crimes.

"Granger?" Moody called. The door to the room where Thorfinn was being held opened to emit the growly Auror, Bill, Sirius, Remus, and Kingsley.

"In here," Hermione called.

The stumping limp of Moody could be heard coming down the hall and Hermione watched Bjarke's eyes dart over her face quickly, worry and anger warring in his gaze.

"What did you find out from… what are you doing in here, kid?" Moody growled at Bjarke when he stopped in the doorway.

"Helping clean Hermione up," Bjarke replied defensively, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Funny deal you Rowles have with this one," Moody sneered. "Your scumbag brother beats her bloody and you pick up the pieces. You in league with him, boy? You been in contact with the fucker? Is that how the Death Eaters got into the other safe-house?"

"Moody?" Hermione intervened, recognising the look of a hardened Auror who sees a suspect in everyone, even the innocent. He was obviously frustrated with Thorfinn, and still angry over what they'd learned, and all too willing to take it out on Rowle's little brother.

"Defending this one, eh?" Moody narrowed his eyes on her, scanning her from head to foot and calling Hermione's attention to the fact that she wore Bjarke's jumper.

"How about we move this discussion out of the bathroom and you jam your suspicious anger up you own arse, Mad-Eye?" Hermione retorted, not at all in the mood to play nice tonight.

Sirius could be heard snorting from the hallway even as Remus shouldered his way into the room, covered in blood from fingertip to elbow and wearing quite a bit more blood on his shirt.

"You attacked him?" Bjarke growled at the sight.

"He deserved what he got, boy," Moody snapped. "Granger. Downstairs. Now. I want a full report on what you found in Rowle's head."

"Is he even still alive?" Bjarke demanded angrily, his fists clenched and his eyes hard.

"He'll live," Kingsley assured him. "Might need some patching up. Later. But he'll live."

"Let's get one thing straight, then," Bjarke growled furiously. "He's a fucking Death Eater, but he's still the only family I've got left. No one kills him and from here on out, no one maims him, either. This is my fucking house and if you lot want to keep using it, you'll refrain from torturing my brother."

"He's a Death Eater, Bjarke," Sirius spoke up from the doorway. "What do you want us to do? Let him go? He'll run right back to his buddies and right back to killing and torturing innocents."

"Actually he…." Hermione interrupted softly. "From what I saw in his head, he's witnessed a number of wretched things, but he hasn't done much worse than kidnapping people and killing a few people in duels like the one at Hogwarts."

"I don't care what he's done. You kill him and you're all out of this place," Bjarke snarled.

"What do you expect us to do with him, kid?" Remus asked as he washed the blood from his hands. "We can't let him go and we can't keep him tied up forever. He's too dangerous to let loose inside and we haven't got a dungeon to lock him in unless you want to leave him in with me on full moons."

"Granger said something about Stockholm syndrome," Bjarke blurted.

"Too bloody right, she did," Sirius muttered, his eyes darting to Hermione raking over her carefully.

"My understanding is that to achieve that, he'd need limited contact with all but one person. There's… I've got another property. It's a little hunting cabin up in the mountains in the middle of a forest. No one knows about it, not even Finn. I bought it with some of my inheritance to have somewhere to go when he brought his buddies around to our place before he went on the run with them," Bjarke said. "If we warded it well enough, we could keep him there until this is all over or until he was attached enough to someone not to want to return to the Death Eaters."

"It's a thought," Kingsley conceded. "He's in the way, here. And we can't let him go."

"Except he's been branded," Sirius pointed out.

"So?" Bjarke asked.

"The Dark Mark lets Lord Cunt-face track his minions down, Bjarke," Sirius explained quietly. "Trust me, kid. I know the wretchedness of having your own brother be a Death Eater and wanting to save him from it all. I tried it with my own brother. But that brand in their arm lets Riddle track them. He uses it to summon them when he wants them and he can use it to find them if they try to flee when they realise the mistakes they've made. If we keep him here too long, they'll find him and our safe-house."

"So we remove it," Bjarke shrugged his huge shoulders.

"You just said you don't want him tortured," Hermione pointed out.

"I want him to bloody survive, Hermione! He's an arsehole but he's still my brother and I don't want him to die. If we keep him, we're discovered, right? And if we let him go, he'll be killed for talking to us, no matter how much he cooperated, because he shouldn't have been caught to begin with," Bjarke snapped. "If we rip the Dark Mark from his skin, we can stick him away in the cabin, ward it tight and keep him there until he's hooked on whoever we send in to deal with him."

The others all looked at each other for a long moment and Hermione didn't like the way each of them darted glances at her, thinking she might be the ideal candidate to invoke Stockholm syndrome in Thorfinn Rowle. She wished she'd just kept her big mouth shut.

"We'll see," Moody growled. "Right now, Granger, you're report?"

"Kitchen first," Kingsley muttered. "I need a bloody drink."

"The others should hear this, anyway," Hermione sighed, leading the way down the stairs and back into the kitchen where Harry, Ron, the twins, Molly, Ginny, Tonks and several others were all gathered, all of them looking grim as they awaited the news about Rowle's interrogation.

"Well?" Harry demanded, eyeing her worriedly when he noticed her wearing Bjarke's jumper.

"The prisoners are being held in the dungeons at Malfoy Manor," Hermione sighed, accepting the cup of tea Molly handed her and dropping into a vacant chair to drink it. "There's a way in through the back of the property. I'm not entirely certain that all of the members of the Inner circle even know it's there. The least savoury among their brethren have been frequenting the area."

"Are they… alive?" Tonks asked.

"Some of them," Hermione said grimly. "But I have to be honest… I'm not certain it's actually worthwhile to attempt to rescue them."

"We can't just leave them!" Ron protested, his eyes going wide.

"I'm not suggesting we leave them," Hermione said before slanting a glance at Moody.

"They're that bad?" he asked. "Bad enough that you'd put them out of their misery?"

Hermione pressed her lips together before nodding grimly.

"I… Any we  _can_  save are just going to be… honestly they'll be a liability. They've lost their mind. Greyback's savaged most of them almost beyond recognition. They've been gang-raped, the women  _and_  the men. Most looked to have been crucio'd into madness. The glimpses I got involved their torture and the sight of them just sitting in their cells, brain-dead, staring at the walls, either catatonic or just… empty"

Molly burst into tears and Hermione saw the way most of the others in the room looked devastated. There hadn't really been anyone all that special to any of them there among the captured, but the loss of fighters and innocents was still a hard blow.

"None of them could be saved?" Moody confirmed.

"They could be," Hermine shrugged. "But then what? You want to stick them in the dungeons here? Let them rot here instead of there? They're all infected with lycanthropy. They locked them all in a cage with Greyback at the last full moon. He bit every last one of them, killed some, ate a few… merely being infected wouldn't be that big a deal, of course, but they're minds are all shattered from what I could see. They'd be dangerously unstable all the time and, for want of a better word, they'd just be dead weight. The number of people we'd risk losing to rescue them all, rather than to just put them out of their misery wouldn't be worth the trouble of trying to keep them alive and safe and contained once we'd extracted them."

Molly's sniffles were loud in the silence that followed.

"They were that bad that even  _you_  would give up on them?" Harry asked in a hollow voice.

Hermione felt a tear trickle down her cheek as she nodded. She hated saying such things. She'd always believed that there was some way to fix such things, that they could be saved. But after the things she'd seen in Rowle's head, she knew there were some things that were unfixable.

"How many are still alive?" Moody wanted to know.

"Of the twenty that were taken, there are still seven alive," Hermione whispered. "Most of the wizards were killed. The witches are… more appealing prey, it seems."

Even Tonks choked on a sob at her choice of words.

"Fuck!" Sirius cursed, looking away.

The rest of the company didn't take the news so well, either.

"I'll kill that bastard," Harry snarled, his eyes lifting skyward, obviously thinking of hurting Rowle.

"Actually he wasn't involved," Hermione sighed. "He's the lookout. I get the feeling not all of the brethren or their Dark Lord would be thrilled at the idea of them raping mudbloods. Everything I saw in his head depicted Rowle as a spectator, not a participant."

"He still stood there and did nothing!" Ron growled.

"He's my brother and if anyone lays another hand on him, you can all find somewhere else as your base of operations," Bjarke spoke up from the corner of the room where he leaned against a bookshelf.

"You're siding with him?" Harry bared his teeth. "I should've known you'd never renounced your Death Eater family."

"Easy, pup," Sirius said. "We don't get to choose our family. They might all be arseholes, but family is family. I tried to save my brother, even when he became a Death Eater. Bjarke just wants to do the same."

Harry looked away, obviously not thrilled over the idea of being told he couldn't take his anger out on Rowle.

"What else did you learn, Granger?" Moody asked.

"The Malfoys are still in disgrace with the Dark Lord," Hermione sighed. "And we've lost the Shafiqs to their cause. The youngest one, from Fred and George's year, took the Mark last month."

Many curses came from around the table.

"They've taken the Ministry completely," Hermione went on. "And they're staging a new initiative to separate parents from children. Those not of pure decent or among the children of Death Eaters are to be remanded back to Hogwarts. They plan to let Greyback infect all the muggle-borns. They're also considering a plan to replenish the population by instigating a Breeding Law, stating that every able bodied witch must begin trying for a child – even those who've already had them. They plan to capture witches and muggle girls as young as fifteen and to forcibly ensure they all fall pregnant to birth the next generation of Tom's army."

"No!" Molly shrieked, looking horrified.

"That won't happen," Moody growled. "We'll end all this before that happens."

Hermione closed her eyes.

"They've already begun," she whispered. "Some of those who were captured in their raid on us are…"

Tonks turned and pressed her face into Remus's shoulder at the news.

"They're pregnant as well as savaged and insane?" Moody confirmed.

"I saw a conversation inside Rowle's head between Greyback and Rodulphus Lestrange. He was bragging that he'd knocked them all up and that they'd be born more powerful because both parents were werewolves."

Everyone looked to Remus.

"It's been found that when male and female werewolves breed, the offspring is… decidedly more wolfish than the children of those who only have one infected parent. They're born with many wolfish qualities, including the ability to see in the dark, and a savage hunger for flesh. They're stronger, faster, and more powerful. They are, essentially, born with all the perks of lycanthropy, without all the drawback of the curse that those bitten into it suffer. It's why Greyback is so much stronger. He's an Alpha, but he was born this way."

"Those with two lycan parents are born werewolf? With the ability to shift?" Moody confirmed.

"Not exactly. It's a bit more like Animagi, for them. They get the perks of lycanthropy and they can transform to wolf no matter the shape of the moon. But they don't suffer the rage and pain and other symptoms of the full moon unless they're bitten. I don't doubt Greyback will infect them young to ensure they are perfect killing machines, if they survive the birth. A risk of the conception in that manner is that their mother still transforms between human and wolf every full moon. It's hard on her and on the unborn child. Most female werewolves are incapable of carrying a baby to term because the transformation causes miscarriage more often than not."

"So if we leave them there, they continue to suffer and become incubators for the next generation of soldiers," Harry surmised unhappily. "If we rescue them, they're a burden we can't really afford and they're dangerous and unstable. And if we put them out of their misery, we're not just killing insane witches, we're murdering unborn babies, too."

Everyone at the table looked beyond devastated and Hermione found herself flicking her wand and summoning enough glasses and a big bottle of whiskey to pass out the drinks. She threw her own back and poured another as everyone accepted their liquor stonily, many looking upset. Molly, Ginny and Tonks were all weeping softly, Fred and George were pale and Ron looked like he was going to be sick.

Minerva was tight lipped and pale, her spine stiff and straight as she downed her own glass of whiskey in two long gulps before skidding the glass up the table to Hermione to fill it once more. Hermione did so gladly.

"Is there more?" Moody asked.

"I don't know if I can take much more," Harry admitted softly.

Hermione closed her eyes, nodding her head, listening to the intakes of breath as they braced for more bad news.

"Xenophilius Lovegood is dead," she whispered and Hermione heard a low, garbled sound of pain emit from the blonde witch in the corner.

Luna's sobs wrenched at Hermione's heart.

"He was captured on his most recent trip to the Post Office in Starville to send out the latest issue of the Quibbler. He was hauled by Snatchers to Malfoy Manor, and Bellatrix…."

There wasn't a dry eye in the room after that, not even from the most seasoned of Aurors. Mad-Eye Moody dabbed at the corner of his human eye while Neville drew Luna into a tight embrace, the sound of her heartache growing to keening wails of despair over the loss of her father.

They'd been expecting the blow, of course. It had been too long since Xenophilius had checked in. They suspected he'd been captured or that he'd had to go to ground. Hermione had found the answer inside Rowle's head.

"Is there any good news, Hermione?" Moody managed, his voice rougher than ever.

Hermione threw back another glass of whiskey, her eyes clenched closed against her grief.

"Bellatrix is pregnant, too," she managed, feeling ill. "As I understand it… Riddle is the father."

Ron vomited his whiskey right back up and he wasn't the only one squeamish over the idea.

"How is that good news?" Fred asked in a choked voice.

"Well, I imagine it'll put her out of commission on torturing people, for a while," Hermione whispered.

"No more," Harry begged. "Don't tell us any more tonight, Hermione. Please. I can't…"

Hermione nodded, pushing away from the table and getting to her feet. She felt like she needed another shower to rinse of the stain of all she'd found inside Rowle's head. She took her bottle of whiskey with her as she left the room, wondering how much of it she might have to drink to purge the images of torture, death and rape from her mind.


	6. Chapter 6

She drank her way through the whiskey bottle she'd made off with, showering once more to rinse the dirty feel off her flesh as though it might help to cleanse her mind. It hadn't. The whiskey numbed it slightly, but she knew she might need to seek some further distraction if she hoped to make it through the night without garish nightmares. The knock on her bedroom door made her look up and Hermione frowned before pulling herself to her feet, swaying slightly as the liquor seemed to hit her all at once.

She stumbled as she made her way to the door, pulling it open to reveal whomever had knocked. She raised her eyebrows in surprise to find Sirius Black on the other side. He had both hands braced on the door-frame, leaning into it as though in need of balance.

"Sirius?" Hermione asked.

"You alright, treasure?" he asked her quietly, his eyes slightly unfocused, making her think he'd been drinking too.

"I'm fine," Hermione lied.

"Bollocks, you are," Sirius retorted, eyeing her carefully. Hermione became aware suddenly that after getting out of the shower, she'd yet to done more than her knickers and a camisole top.

"Did you need something, Sirius?" Hermione asked. "Or are you just here to check on me?"

She found her eyes trailing over the wizard carefully, suddenly finding him a most intriguing distraction indeed. She got the feeling from the way he was eyeing her in return, that she knew exactly what he wanted. A little smirk pulled at the corners of her mouth.

"Can I come in?" he asked in a low voice, glancing over his shoulder carefully before looking back toward her.

"Close the door behind you," Hermione nodded, turning away and sauntering toward the bed.

Sirius slipped into the room, closing and locking the door behind him before pulling out his wand and casting wards to prevent anyone from gaining access after him and to keep anyone from hearing anything from within her room. Hermione crossed to her bedside table, opening the top drawer and fishing inside it until she closed her hand over a phial of potion. Sirius was smirking when she turned back toward him as she uncorked it and brought it to her lips, drinking down the sweet tasting contraception potion quickly.

"You did well today," he commented as he hunted her across the room, coming closer while Hermione held her ground.

"You're supposed to take my mind  _off_  today's events," Hermione chided, reaching for the hem of his shirt when he was close enough.

"Right," Sirius smirked. "My apologies."

He brought his hands up to tangle them into her curls before claiming her lips hotly. He tasted like whiskey and the promise of distraction. He always did. Hermione kind of liked that about Sirius. They had the worst disagreements and tiffs at times but she could always count on him to make her forget her anger or her sadness or her fear, just for a little while.

The first time she'd slept with him had been more than a year ago, when things had taken a turn for the worse as the Death Eaters and Voldemort seemed to gain a new foothold within the world. They'd both been drunk and she'd woken up in bed beside him with vague memories of shagging him and little else. She hadn't even spoken to him before crawling over him and out of the bed, stretching languidly and leaving him there, hungover and grumbling at the knee she'd accidentally dug into his stomach. He hadn't called her back or asked where she was going, and Hermione hadn't expected him to.

No one knew about it, of if they did, they pretended they didn't. Ron and Harry didn't know, in any case. She was certain of that much. They'd both have a fit if they knew. They'd thrown enough of a hissy fit at the notion of her being female enough to seduce Rowle for tonight's mission. Confronting them with the notion that she was shagging Harry's godfather - a man twenty years her senior - didn't seem wise. Not that she shagged him all that often. Hermione and Sirius had an unspoken sort of an agreement. They tended to only land in bed together when something took a really shitty turn.

Like it had done tonight. Hermione leaned into the kiss he gave her, always feeling like the gasoline to his fire in their encounters. Passion roared between them and she found herself being pressed into the bedroom wall and peeled out of her shirt in short order. She returned the favour willingly, stripping him slowly. Theirs wasn't a slow pondering or exploration of each other. There was no stopping to admire the view he made shirtless, or the sight he made in all his naked glory. He didn't pause to drink in the sight of her supple form, her pert breasts or shapely thighs.

This wasn't some love affair or even an expression of mutual desire. It was simple release. A joining of bodies in the most carnal of ways that achieved a simple purpose. Distraction. Satiation. Like a good strong Memory Charm, whenever she was in his arms, she could forget about how wretched everything was in the outside world. When he was buried deep inside her, she didn't have to think about the horrors of their lives, or the pain of losing friends, or the stress of war. There was just bodies and touches. Lips and tongues. Her and him.

Hermione preferred it that way. As she snogged him hotly, arching into the touch when he brought his hands up to cup her breasts, Hermione closed off her mind to the horrors she'd been reliving and focused on the feelings instead. The heat of his skin; the roughness of his calloused hands; the whiskey taste of his tongue and the prod of his erection against her abdomen. She focused on the shivers of desire rushing through her and the tingle at her core, anticipation thickening in her blood.

Sirius grunted when Hermione unbuckled his belt and shoved his trousers down his legs. He tripped on them, getting them caught around his ankles when she pushed against his chest, steering him back toward the bed until he toppled back on top of it. She straddled him, snogging him again and catching the smirk on his face as she leaned in for another kiss. Her fingers stroking him, her hand fisted tight around his steel length, she watched the way his eyes rolled back in his head with delight.

"Don't tease," he groaned softly. "Not tonight."

Hermione nodded her head in agreement, though he'd closed his eyes and couldn't see. Aligning him at her core, Hermione positioned herself carefully and slid down onto him with a soft sigh. Gods, she loved it. The deep, full feeling of being impaled made her head spin and she lifted up only to sink down once more, smiling to herself. Sirius gripped her hips, letting her guide the motion and set the pace but helping her work over him.

She set a hard rhythm, craving the fiery burn of orgasm rushing through her blood, craving the sweet release. Sirius bucked under her and Hermione smirked, eyes closed, knowing he wanted more. Wanted it harder, wanted her to let go and fuck him like she hated him. He loved catching the worst of her moods and he was likely still angry with her for their earlier spat. His fingers bit into her hips and Hermione began to rock faster, bouncing up and down, swirling on the down-stroke before lifting again. He groaned softly and her breath came in ragged gasps as she chased her release, using him for her own purposes.

Arching her back, Hermione tipped her head back, lightning flashing behind her eyes as the wave of pleasure crested. She ground down hard onto him as Sirius bucked up into her again, his thumb pressing her clit and detonating her. A ragged cry tore from her lips as the wave hit, crashing over her and sweeping her into blissful abandon.

"Fuck, yeah," she heard Sirius murmured, still bucking beneath her, still toying with her clit. Hermione squeaked when he flipped the two of them, rolling her to her back and trapping her beneath him. He took her fast then. Hard. Deep. Wild. Hermione groaned at the feel of every brutal stroke. He  _fucked_  her on night like this. This wasn't some sappy love-making session or even just gratifying sex. It was hard-core fucking, the release of endorphins through orgasm all the sweeter for the release of the wretchedness they each felt in the day to day of war. He channelled his rage with the world into the way he fucked her. She pushed back, clawing at him, straining beneath him, desperate to break again.

She needed the unbridled passion. She needed his fire. She needed to channel her fury and her impotence to help others into violence as she fucked him, and she liked that he gave as good as he got. She liked it when he'd get mad and wrap his hands around her throat or he'd leave bruises in the shape of his fingers upon her delicate flesh. She liked it when he pinned her to the bed and ground himself into her until she screamed or until he felt better, whichever came first.

He speared into her violently, his hands on her throat, squeezing just enough to threaten. Hermione opened her eyes, her head swimming with pleasure, and she admired the view he made. His handsome face was scrunched with anger, his eyes hooded and dark, glittering with violence. His body strained with coiled muscle, taut like a bowstring about to snap.

"Is that all you've got?" she found herself challenging him and Sirius eyes snapped to her face.

A cruel smile curled his lips and Hermione squealed when he pulled out of her, flipped her to her stomach and hauled her up until she was on her hands and knees. The first slap of his open palm against her arse stung and the second one burned like fire. His fingers bit into her hips hard enough to bruise when he jerked her onto his cock once more, driving impossibly deeper, rubbing her special spot in a way that made her moan.

"You want more?" Sirius challenged, pinning her down, holding her hostage as he rutted her, his bollocks slapping against her flesh.

"I want it all," Hermione admitted and Sirius released one of her hips to pull her hair viciously, yanking on it, making her arch like a bow, pulling her head back with his unrelenting grip. She cried out when he slapped her arse with his free hand, hard enough she expected she'd have a welt. He bent over her, rutting her, fucking her, slamming into her and making her ache. He bit down on her shoulder, nails and teeth cutting into her skin and making Hermione groan. The orgasm snuck up on her, slamming into her and flinging her back into the pool of pleasure. Sirius followed her over when she clamped down on him, milking him, squealing softly at the power of it.

Hermione collapsed, boneless when he freed her hair and the air huffed from her lungs when he dropped on top of her.

"Fuck," Sirius groaned, pressing a kiss to her shoulder almost affectionately.

Hermione only managed a huff of a laugh in return, her whole body limp as she tried to breathe through the covers, too tired to turn her head. Sirius crawled off her, sprawling on his stomach beside her and tipping her head before stealing a soft kiss from her lips. She liked that he always did that. When it was finished, he always grew affectionate, pulling her into his arms and kissing her sweetly, as though to make up for the rough treatment and the insults he tended to sling at her during their sessions of wild passion.

"You alright?" he asked quietly, pulling her closer until she rested her cheek on his chest. Hermione nodded, too tired as she tried to catch her breath.

"You?" she managed.

He laughed softly. "Never better, love. Never better than this."

Hermione suspected that was true. The war didn't exactly lend itself to casual sex with just anybody and it was hardly safe to be going out and about in the world with just any old body. Sirius didn't get out much, outside of missions, and there weren't many witches on hand that he might shag guilt-free. She knew he enjoyed shagging her, but that much the same way she did, he also knew there would never be more to it than that. She and Sirius might be explosive in bed, but they were chalk and cheese outside of it. They fought and they annoyed one another and most of the time they couldn't stand one another.

Only in moments like now, a few whiskeys into the evening when clothes were optional, were they able to tolerate one another for a short time. The best part of shagging him, Hermione had decided some time ago, was that not only was it a secret, but she didn't have to talk to him. He was hardly the first man she'd shagged, but he was certainly the easiest to ravish. He didn't offer her promises of a relationship or pretty nothings. She didn't have to feel awkward with him or cast about for a topic of conversation. She could lay next to him when they were both sated, lightly touching and enjoying the feeling of knowing someone else was there without the pressure to talk or to read too much into what amounted to nothing but good sex.

She traced lazy patterns through the hair dotting his chest, tracing the shapes of his many tattoos and simply caressing lightly for the simple joy of touching. He did the same, tracing his fingers in soft patterns over her shoulders and her back, lulling her toward sleep.

"You  _did_  do well today, Hermione," Sirius told her quietly when she was almost asleep. "You… I know there was more to what you saw in that bastard's head that you haven't shared yet, but you did well to get it all out of him."

"Must we discuss it?" Hermione whined. "I don't want to go to sleep thinking about it all."

Sirius chuckled. "Can't sleep yet, love."

"You want to go again?" she asked, smirking against his skin.

"Well, that would be nice," he chuckled. "But Bjarke is looking for you."

"Why?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowing at the idea. Despite this being his house, she didn't often interact with Bjarke Rowle unless she had to.

Sirius shrugged. "Wants you to heal his brother after what Moony did to him, I expect."

Hermione winced. The idea of getting anywhere near Thorfinn Rowle again so soon made her stomach turn.

"How badly is he wounded?" she asked quietly.

"Pretty bad," Sirius admitted. "Moony was… less than pleased with him for what the fucker did to you. He's very… protective… of you, our Moony."

Hermione tipped her head to search Sirius's face when she caught the strange tone in his voice. Sirius was frowning slightly, his fingers trailing through her curls as he stared, unseeing, at the wall.

"Why do you say that?" Hermione asked, frowning a little.

"That he's protective?" Sirius asked, dragging his eyes from the wall to look over and meet her gaze. "Just a fact, love. We're all a bit protective of you, to be honest. Harry's best friend, a brilliant witch, a little walking textbook with enough fire to bring the entire Order down on her own. The idea of you in the hands of the Death Eaters don't sit real well with any of us, Hermione. To be honest, the idea of you being hurt doesn't sit well either, even with me when I'm the one hurting you."

"You enjoy hurting me, sometimes," she pointed out.

"I do," he agreed. "And I reckon from the way you moan, you enjoy it too, at the time. But those times it's never more than holding too tight or swatting that pert little arse."

He punctuated his statement by sweeping his hands down her back to pat her bum affectionately.

"But that's different to seeing some cunt break your nose or threaten you, love. Moony's protective because you're one of the only people around this place who'll debate magical theory with him to take his mind off the impending full moon or the other shittiness of war. I'm protective because you're the one who lets me fuck her into a stupor when the demons start playing in my head. Harry and Ron are protective because you're their best friend and they love you. We all feel protective because if you were ever captured by the Death Eaters or killed by them, Harry would lose control and run at them full-tilt, bent on revenge. Don't discredit yourself by thinking you don't matter to any of us, love."

He pressed a tender kiss to the middle of her forehead, making Hermione blink in surprise at the affection and at the proclamation. Sirius wasn't usually one for discussing feelings of any kind.

"Did Remus… how badly wounded is Rowle?" Hermione asked quietly after several long minutes of contemplation over all he'd said.

Sirius sighed.

"He got pretty rough with the fucker. There was a lot of blood running when we left him in there. Don't reckon he'll bleed out over it, but he won't be real happy when he wakes up."

"He's unconscious?" Hermione confirmed.

"He was when we left," Sirius shrugged unrepentantly. "Moody must've left if Bjarke snuck in there to get a look at the fucker. And since you're one of the only ones who knows how to heal werewolf inflicted wounds and might actually be talked into helping Bjarke heal him, I reckon he's looking to see if he can't talk you into helping him."

"Is Rowle going to die if I don't help him?" Hermione wanted to know, resigned to the notion that she might have to save the wretch's life.

"Could do," Sirius shrugged. "If he gets infected or loses too much blood, he might die. The wounds should coagulate before that happens, but you never know."

It was clear to her that Sirius didn't care, one way or the other, if Rowle made it through the night and she suspected that the main reason Bjarke wanted Hermione's help was because most of the Order would feel the same way Sirius did. They were beyond the point of caring about the life or death of a Death Eater. Hermione was the only one who might show a little compassion. Molly would, too. But Molly didn't know how to treat werewolf-slashes.

Sighing, Hermione laid her cheek back on Sirius's chest for a moment.

"You're going to help him, aren't you?" Sirius asked when Hermione worried at her bottom lip with her teeth, thinking over the merit of just letting the bastard die.

"Bjarke will throw us all out of here if I don't," Hermione said.

"Probably. Kid's got morals about shit like that. Can't say I blame him. If it was my brother sitting in that room, Death Eater or not, I'd probably ask you for help, too."

"You wouldn't need my help and you'd never have let Remus attack him that way," Hermione argued. Sirius smirked a little and pressed another absentminded kiss to her forehead.

"True," he muttered. "But I'd have beat the shit out of the little sod myself if he was here now."

Hermione could tell that he was going to spiral into another foul mood where he lamented the loss of the dead and she suspected she was in for more rough sex in short order. Pulling away from him, Hermione sat up and slowly and stretched.

"Don't go anywhere," she told him when she got out of bed and fished around for her clothes until she had pyjama shorts and her housecoat on.

"Don't tell me what to do, woman," Sirius grumbled, apparently burring up all over again. Hermione smirked, kneeling on the bed and looming over him.

"If you go anywhere before I get back," she threatened. "I'll bust into your room and fuck you all over again and I'll be a right bitch about it too because you won't have been here, naked and waiting to ravish me."

Sirius reached for her, pulling her down to snog her hotly for several long minutes.

"If I'm asleep, wake me," he smirked at her when he pulled away, releasing her so she could help Bjarke and heal a man she loathed rather than just letting the bastard die.

"A little at a time?" Hermione asked, raising one eyebrow and drawing a soft bark of amusement from Sirius even as he lifted her pillow and dropped it over his face, stretching out fully on her bed. Hermione shook her head, leaving him there as she slipped out the door and into the hallway.

The house was quiet, everyone having gone to bed or gone home, it seemed. Hermione wondered what time it was, but made no attempt to find out. The less people around to see her healing Rowle, the better. The less people likely to notice the marks on her throat from Sirius's hands the better, too.

"Hermione?" Bjarke asked when she hurried down to the kitchen to fetch the first aid box. "I've been looking for you, but I figured you must still be in the shower or that you'd already gone to bed and warded the door. Listen, I need your…."

He trailed off when she picked up the first aid box and carried it out of the room while he was still talking. The big blond idiot was on her heels as she raced back up the stairs.

"You already know, don't you?" Bjarke asked.

"I'm actually pretty clever, you know, Rowle?" Hermione asked over her shoulder.

The former Slytherin boy gave her a searching look for a moment, obviously wondering how she'd known he was looking for her and that he wanted her help to heal Thorfinn. When she reached the room where Rowle was being held captive, she hesitated with her hand on the doorway.

"I should warn you, I might be forced to hex him to knock him unconscious to heal him, Bjarke," Hermione told him. "Or I might just do it because he annoys me. If you've got a problem with that, I recommend staying out here."

Bjarke rolled his eyes. "I'll help you get him cleaned up, Granger. I just… why are you helping me fix him? I know you hate him more than most. I know he broke your nose earlier, too."

"I'm helping because no one else will," Hermione admitted. "And because I know you'll be upset if something happens to him as a result of the wounds, and because while he won't show it outwardly, Remus will be feeling guilty over what he did to the idiot."

Bjarke nodded slowly for a second. "This got anything to do what I said earlier?" he asked in a low voice.

Hermione glanced up at him questioningly, before recalling what he'd said in the bathroom about fancying her in their sixth year and about joining the Order, in part, because she'd joined first.

"Erm…" Hermione frowned. "About that… You… uh… Do you still feel that way about me?"

Bjarke's mouth twisted into another one of those expression halfway between a grin and a frown. He looked like he didn't want to tell her, which suggested that he still might fancy her.

"Look, Granger, I know you don't fancy me, so let's just leave it be, alright?" he muttered, reaching for the doorknob and turning it quickly to push the door open.

Hermione hated the conflicted squeeze inside her chest as she watched the blond push past her and stride into the room where his elder, more built and slightly handsomer brother was slumped unconscious in his chair and covered in blood. Trailing her eyes back to Bjarke while he focused his attention on beginning to try and clean up his brother, Hermione wondered if maybe – just  _maybe_ – she could talk to him about all this later when she wasn't mostly drunk from trying to purge the memories from her head, and when she hadn't just fucked Sirius Black stupid.

The idea that he fancied her confused her immensely and none of it was helped by the fact that the potion she'd ingested to lure Rowle into their trap had smelled like  _her_  to the Death Eater. She didn't think it would be very wise to discuss Bjarke's potential crush on her when she'd been shagging someone else and had snogged his brother not four hours ago.

Steeling herself against the vomit-inducing state Rowle was in after Remus had finished with him, Hermione squared her shoulders and resolved to focus on one catastrophe at a time.


	7. Chapter 7

Thorfinn Rowle came awake with a ragged hiss when someone set him on fire. At least, it felt like they'd set him on fire. His whole body blazed with agony and he was fairly certain that someone might've removed his eyes because he  _knew_  he was awake, but he couldn't seem to open his eyes or see anything.

"He's waking up, Hermione," a familiar voice murmured, sounding tense.

Thorfinn tried to blink, hissing when it felt like someone had just yanked every single eyelash out and he realised with a foul oath that no one had taken his eyes, they'd just fucked him up badly enough that his eyelids had been crusted shut with dried blood.

"Pray he keeps his mouth shut so I don't have to suffocate him, Bjarke," an increasingly familiar and extremely hostile female voice replied while Thorfinn flexed against his bindings, wanting to rub the pain and the dried blood from his eyes.

"Bjarke?" he asked raggedly, realising as his voice came out rough that he was parched and that he felt dizzy.

"It's me, Finn," his little brother's voice was quiet and close to him. Thorfinn craned his neck, trying to spot the kid and he snarled out more oaths when the movement screamed through his muscles and caused a sharp sting.

"If you could refrain from tearing your scabs and bleeding out long enough for me to keep you from death's door, Superstar, that would be great," Granger's voice was sharp and sarcastic.

"Bitch, you better  _pray_  I never get out of these ties," Thorfinn retorted in a cold voice, eyeing her hatefully when she came into view. She gripped her wand surely, her eyes assessing the damage to his body and his face, not even bothering to meet his gaze. Fucking snobby bitch.

He narrowed his eyes when he noticed that she bore no sign of having had her nose broken, despite the head-butt, and he wondered how long he'd been unconscious. Actually, now that he thought about it, the little bitch looked like she'd showered and maybe even like she'd been recently fucked. Thorfinn didn't know what to make of the idea that she'd been off fucking someone after all she'd seen inside his head. He didn't know what to make of the flare of fury he felt, either.

"Must you two fight?" Bjarke's voice came again, and Thorfinn realised he hadn't imagined the boy's presence when he little brother moved into his line of sight while Granger used her wand to knit some of Thorfinn's wounds back together.

"Were you expecting something else, Rowle?" Granger asked, slanting a sceptical glance at Bjarke even as she continued working on healing his wounds.

"I was expecting a little decent bedside manner," Bjarke retorted. "He's fucking dying, Hermione."

"He deserves it," Granger replied.

"Then why are you healing me, Princess?" Thorfinn demanded through gritted teeth as the itching of rapidly healing wounds became unbearable. "I mean, you got everything you wanted right out of my head. I'm no longer of use to the Order. Thought you'd have been the first person to let me die."

"Believe me, Rowle, I would happily let you rot in this room as these wounds grow infected and you're slowly poisoned from the inside out. Unfortunately, since this is Bjarke's place and the Order need it, we have to meet his demands. And even more unfortunately, your brother has yet to realise that you're an irredeemable wretch. Until then you're at the mercy of his whim as much as we are."

"Got 'em by the bollocks, eh Bjarke?" Thorfinn smirked at his little brother before frowning. "Wait... you're working with the Order? Giving them sanctuary in our house? This doesn't look like the Tower."

"It's not the Tower," Bjarke shrugged, offering no further explanation of why he was working with the Order.

Thorfinn was in too much pain to interrogate him about it, but he was definitely disappointed. His little brother had never been cut out for the life of a Death Eater, and before reaching his majority Bjarke had done what he could to avoid the house whenever Thorfinn had his budding Death Eaters pals over, but he'd never dreamed the kid would turn to the Order.

"So you picked the losing side, eh kid?" he asked when Granger disappeared, moving back out of his line of sight, intent on healing his wounds to keep Bjarke happy. Thorfinn wondered if it was the lad who she'd been fucking. He didn't like the flare of what felt suspiciously like jealousy when he tipped his head to meet his brother's gaze. He loathed the bitch and he didn't give a fuck what she did in her free time!

"No," Bjarke said, eyeing him coolly. "You did that, Finn. I picked the side that will win, in the end. And maybe, if you're lucky, I'll be able to talk them into holding you captive long enough to prevent you from committing any more crimes so that one day, when this war is finally done, you won't have to rot in prison for the rest of your life."

"He'll do that regardless of us ever letting him go back to the Death Eaters, Bjarke," Granger spoke from behind him healing something on the back of his shoulder. "Don't delude yourself into thinking that when the war ends, he'll walk free. His a criminal. He's a murderer. And he bears the Dark Mark. He'll be locked up for life alongside every other surviving Death Eater when this is all over."

"You don't know that," Bjarke argued with her.

"I do, actually," Granger replied haughtily. "Because I plan to be one of the ones testifying against him and calling for his conviction."

"Bitch," Thorfinn snarled.

"Why?" Bjarke frowned, and Thorfinn narrowed his eyes at the way the kid looked genuinely hurt by the notion that she would do such a thing.

"Did you miss the part where I mentioned he tried to kill me when I was twelve just because I tattled on him?" Granger demanded, coming back into view with her hands on her hips, looking annoyed. "Excuse me if I take issue with attempted child killers."

"People change, Hermione," Bjarke pointed out.

"Oh, yes," Granger's sneer could rival that of Snape. "Yes, he's changed so much since then. Now he's a successful murderer and plays for the team attempting to wipe people like me off the face of the Earth. Such a step-up in the world of morality."

"You've been in my head, bitch," Thorfinn interrupted. "You  _know_  that most of my kills were borne of self-defence or done under duress."

"He says, as though the duress isn't of his own making," Granger scowled. "You don't get to play the duress card, Rowle. You  _chose_  to become a Death Eater and take the Dark Mark. You  _chose_  to work with Voldemort. You don't get to bitch that you only kill people when Voldemort is breathing down your neck about it. You  _chose_  to work for him. More to the point, if the choice comes down to killing someone just for orders, or dying yourself, the decent people of the world choose to sacrifice themselves."

"Yeah, because if I sacrifice myself there won't be five guys behind me willing to do the job and earn the praise for it," Thorfinn bit out. "That makes sense. Sacrifice myself to save someone who's just going to die in the next couple of minutes by someone else's wand, just the same. Gee, can't figure out why I haven't thrown myself on that sword."

"If you had any form of morality or decency, Rowle, you'd turn on your brethren for the good of the innocent. And don't you dare argue that you're among the innocent if you refuse to do the killing, too. Impotent bystanders who watch bad things take place without lifting a finger to help are often just as bad as the offenders, themselves. All those moments in your head where you stood by and did nothing to save the victims of your brethren make you despicable, Thorfinn Rowle. They make you pathetic and weak and an utter wretch, because if you haven't got the stones to commit the crime and you haven't got the guts to fight back against the criminals then you're nothing more than a waste of space and you'd be doing the world a favour to sacrifice yourself for  _something_ , no matter how ineffective it might prove!"

Thorfinn blinked when the little shrew ended her tirade with a stinging slap to his cheek - making his already pounding head throb terribly - before she spun on her heels and stomped right back out of the room, leaving Thorfinn alone with his kid brother and his pain.

"Fucking bitch," Thorfinn growled. "I swear, the minute I'm freed of theses chains I'll wring the life from her with my bare bloody hands."

"No, you won't," Bjarke told him sternly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking more than a little intimidating. Or he would, to anyone not Thorfinn's size. The kid had grown since Thorfinn had last seen him.

"You're really working with these bastards?" he asked of his brother quietly, shaking his head to try and clear some of the dizziness.

"Yes," Bjarke said. "And I'll keep working them and holding your= prisoner until the war is over, so don't bother asking me to set your free."

"Whipped for a little mudblood pussy, are you?" Thorfinn asked and he cursed foully when Bjarke clocked him one across the mouth.

" _Don't_  call her a mudblood, Thorfinn," Bjarke snarled, his eyes glittering with fury. "She might have muggle parents, but I think we both know she's more witch than just about anyone we've ever met."

"I had her pinned for a hag, actually," Thorfinn retorted.

"You're a fucking liar," Bjarke accused. "You want to fuck her as badly as I do. And everyone knows it. They bathed her in Amortentia spiked perfume before sending her hunting for a Death Eater to interrogate. Everyone else smelled their favourite scents coming off of her, but you, big brother, listed all the ones she smells like any old day."

"Bullshit," Thorfinn denied.

Bjarke rolled his eyes, obviously not believing him. They glared at one another and Thorfinn wondered how it had come to this. He'd practically raised the kid after their parents were killed and yet the ungrateful little shit was eyeballing him like a mutt as likely to bite him as any mangy cur.

"Let me out of here, little brother," Thorfinn demanded, his voice low and threatening, his eyes hard.

"No."

"Damn it, Bjarke! Do you know what will happen if they try to keep me here?" Thorfinn demanded. "Either the Dark Lord will peg me for a traitor, hunt me down and murder everyone in between him and me before killing me himself; or he'll just show up here with the rest of his Death Eaters and lay waist to this house and everyone in it to set me free."

"You and I both know that you don't mean that much to him, Finn," Bjarke replied coldly and Thorfinn felt a bit like he'd been punched in the gut. "You're just a dumb grunt to him. Bit of a fuck up, too, from what I hear. He'd be glad to be rid of you. And he won't find this place even if he bumps right into it."

"I've got a Dark Mark, stupid," Thorfinn growled at him twitching his aching left arm like he might show the boy his mark if not for the bonds holding him prisoner. "No warding or anything else will keep him from finding me. He can track the lot of us through the mark, and he'll search for me."

"You say that like we're unaware of their uses and aren't already devising the best way to remove it from your flesh," Bjarke said, tipping his head to one side and looking intrigued. "Is the flesh there so deadened that you can't feel the large scrap of skin missing where the mark should be? Lupin used his claws to pry it from you skin, big brother."

"It's not  _just_  a tattoo, you fool," Thorfinn snarled, his blood running cold at the idea of having been viciously maimed. The Dark Lord would assume he'd done it himself, trying to defect, Thorfinn was sure of it.

"We know that. And with clever little things like Granger on our side, I think you'll find that you'll be spending a good deal more time in her presence while she treats you like an experiment, trying any number of things to remove, kill, or block the link to Voldemort."

Thorfinn hissed at his brother for using the name.

"And you're going to let her?" Thorfinn challenged. "What the matter, Baby Bear? You care so much for the little bitch that you'll let her torture me without lifting a finger."

"Refusing to lift a finger while bad things happen must be a family trait," Bjarke sneered in retort, and Thorfinn cursed.

"You're a fucking fool, Bjarke. The Dark Lord will  _not_  grant you leniency just because you're related to me. He'll just punish the pair of us all the more to know you've turned traitor to your own flesh and blood. You'll pay for this, I swear it."

"Maybe I will," Bjarke shrugged his shoulders. "But you tell me the worse price. Watching the last member of my family throw his life away and rot forever, or a swift end for the pair of us? What would you choose?"

Thorfinn cursed a blue streak at the boy, loathing that he'd grown a conscience or grown some morals when Thorfinn hadn't been looking.

"Yeah," Bjarke grunted when Thorfinn offered nothing but insults. "That's what I thought. Get comfortable, Finn. From here on out you're the prisoner of the Order of the Phoenix and I'm not going to do more than insist they keep you alive. You won't be here long, either. Moody rather like the idea of turning you into a whipped dog attached to a single master and willing to turn your back on your Dark Lord for pitiful scraps of interaction. I don't imagine there'll be much chance that they'll let us see each other again in future, but you should know that everything I'm doing is for your own good."

When Bjarke turned his back and walked out of the room, Thorfinn was furious enough that he spewed wandless fire from his mouth in the boy's wake.

"You're no brother of mine, Bjarke!" he snarled after the boy just before the door could swing closed and Bjarke stopped, his back still turned.

"Actually Finn, I'm the last hope you've got," he retorted quietly before pulling the door closed behind him. Thorfinn cursed all the more that the little shit didn't even have the gall to slam it like a moody teenager. It clicked closed softly, letting Thorfinn know that not only had his words not hurt or angered the boy, the kid was clearly more mature than Thorfinn himself.

Left alone once more, and now painfully aware of the raw, throbbing ache in his left forearm in addition to the pounding in his head, Thorfinn wondered just how he was going to get out of this mess.


	8. Chapter 8

"I won't do it," Hermione shook her head, glaring across the table at Moody the following day.

"You don't have a choice," he retorted.

"Mad-Eye," Remus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Someone's got to do it and that fucker is already attached to her or the potion wouldn't have worked on him like it did."

"You can't ask her to lock herself away in some cabin with a Death Eater who can and will hurt her if given the chance. Unless he's kept tied up – which is ineffective, inhumane, and undoubtedly messy – he will hurt her if he has the chance. He doesn't need a wand to wound her, we've already seen that. Baser violence works, too and he's not honourable enough not to lay a hand on her just because she's a girl," Remus argued reasonably and Hermione wanted to hug the werewolf.

He was the only one speaking any sense. Moody was beyond mad if he thought she was going to let them pack her off to some cottage in the middle of nowhere with only Thorfinn Rowle for company. She'd rather die.

"There are ways to keep him from hurting her," Moody said. "The Ministry keeps suppression cuffs for that reason. They prevent the wearer from accessing their magic for any spell that could be harmful or could allow their escape, and they're programmed to Stun the wearer if they even attempt to cause anyone any harm. We put some of those on Rowle and he'll be sweet as a lamb. Mouthy, I imagine, but he won't be able to hurt her."

"There's still the issue of locking him away with only Hermione for company," Remus said, frowning. "Even if he can't hurt her, we can't just ship her off to some remote and secret location to babysit him."

"Yes, we can," Moody argued. "The research we need her to be focusing on would've taken her out of commission here, anyway. If she's up there in the middle of nowhere, she can influence the Death Eater whenever she's not researching. And you've seen her when she's seeking answers for something. She's a pain in the bloody arse and snarls at everyone. Better to keep her away from everyone else while she handles it. Two birds with one stone, and all that."

"What research project?" Hermione asked, perking up a little at the idea of being given something to focus on.

"We're looking for a way to destroy the Horcrux inside Harry without killing the kid and without going to all-out war with You Know Who," Remus sighed. "We also want to find out if there's a way to control the Death Eaters through their Dark Marks, so you'd have to do a little experimenting on Rowle. If we could send a Killing Curse through the Mark linking them all, we'd be able to end the war without losing any more people."

"You want to reverse the charms on it that allows You Know Who to summon them and contact them all simultaneously, turning it into a conductor for something else? I don't think Protean Charms work that way."

"They don't," Bill shook his head. "But there's a lot more to the Dark Mark than just a Protean Charm, Hermione. We ripped the mark from Rowle's arm last night, but the magic is attached to his core, not just to the physical representation of the tattoo, even if it's the tattoo that burns when they're summoned."

"He's hardly going to cooperate and let me experiment on him, even with a cuff to keep him from hurting me," Hermione argued. "And besides, Harry and Ron need me here."

"They don't," Moody shook his head. "There are others we can send hunting for Horcruxes, but without a means to destroy all the pieces, there's little point in collecting them. Our other ventures will all continue smoothly enough without your input, especially if you can find a way to kill them all through the Mark."

Hermione knew that logically, what they were suggesting made sense. She  _was_  a pain in the arse when she was researching, and she would need access to Rowle to experiment on him. And since he was in the way and too much of a liability at the safe-house, the cabin in the mountains would have to do. She knew it made sense, but she certainly didn't like it.

"You can't just lock me away with that bastard and leave me there!" she argued.

"We won't leave you there, love," Sirius chuckled. "You'll be able to come and go as you like, you'll just have to keep an eye on him and make sure he can't escape and still gets fed and all that crap. Bjarke will throw a hissy fit if he dies on our watch and you  _are_  a pain in the fucking arse when you're researching. Especially if it's not going well, and I think we all know it's going to be an excursion in frustration for you."

Hermione frowned.

"But you want me to essentially live with the man?" she confirmed.

"That would be best," Moddy said. "Helps to keep an eye on him, and it'll help get him used to you, to better sway him to switching sides."

"You  _want_  to make him switch sides?" she asked. "As in, have him turn traitor and begin working with us rather than trying to escape."

"We need everyone we can get, Hermione," Remus said softly. "This isn't a game. This is war and every able body we can get on our side will be one less we have to fight against. If he's hooked on you, he'll turn traitor to the Dark Lord and actually become useful to the Order, rather than just something we have to protect for the sake of keeping our headquarters here."

"You would… trust him? If he developed Stockholm syndrome, you would trust him to access his magic and walk around free? To have our backs in a fight?"

"By the time you're through with him, girl, that fucker will die for any one of us if he knows it'll make you happy," Moody said quietly.

"How do you imagine I'll achieve that?" she asked, raising her eyebrows and frowning at them fiercely. "I can hardly seduce him into falling for me when he can't be trusted to touch me without strangling me and I don't much fancy laying another finger on him for non-experimental purposes. You're intending to ship me off and have me live with him because you lot can't stand me when I'm bitchy and snarly while I'm researching. I'm hardly going to be able to charm him into loving me. The man hates me. He wants me dead!"

"He wants to fuck you stupid, too," Kingsely informed her. "It's in his eyes and in every action we've seen of his in your presence, Hermione. When you were in that interrogation room, even when we were the more dangerous threats, it was  _you_  who had his attention and you he addressed all of his comments to. Even if he can't lay a hand on you, he'll fall for you if you spend long enough in his presence."

"And then what?" Hermione asked. "He's hardly going to be trustworthy, even if he does fall for me, if he's set loose amongst us and I go back to shagging whoever I shag and rubbing his face in the fact that I want nothing to do with him."

"When the war's over, we'll lock him up," Moody shrugged.

"Even if he's helped our side by then?" Hermione asked.

"He'll always be a criminal, Granger," Moody reminded her. "We just need him to be a useful criminal for as long as it suits us until this war is over."

"You're essentially telling me to go against my own nature and shag the bastard, despite my own repugnance at the very thought, just to get him addicted to shagging me long enough to make him useful, is that correct?"

"Think of it as an undercover mission, Granger."

"I'm not an Auror!" Hermione snarled.

"No, you're a fucking soldier in a fucking war, and we need you to research and to find a way to bring his buddies down. If that means you've got to shag the answers out of him, you'll bloody well do it, Granger!" Moody snarled, losing his temper and Hermione recognised the ex-Auror he'd once been glittering in his determined gaze.

"Mad-Eye!" Remus growled.

"Don't fucking snarl at me, Lupin. We need everything we can get out of that fucker and we need more bodies on our side in this fucking war. If we could turn every Death Eater to our side by having them fuck Granger, I'd let it happen. We're losing this fucking war because they're deadlier, they're meaner, and they're unscrupulous. We need a few people on our side with no more scruples too, and if we can get this one by having her spread her legs, then she better fucking do it. It's not like she's a bloody child and not used to engaging in casual sex."

Hermione narrowed her eyes and felt colour climbing her cheeks. She didn't dare look at Sirius.

"Now you're calling her a tart, as well as insisting she fuck on command?" Sirius drawled, and Hermione lost the battle not to look at the man.

He looked the picture of ease.

"Since you're the one she's fucking, yeah, I'd say so," Moody growled, and Hermione closed her eyes when a few of the other gasped in surprise at the news.

"Excuse me?" Bill said, coughing, having swallowed his mouthful of tea the wrong way in his shock.

"I'm not a fucking Death Eater, though, am I?" Sirius drawled, not a hint of embarrassment or concern in his expression or his tone. "You want her to spread her legs and let that Death Eater scum drill her over and over until he's hooked on her. What's she supposed to do? Close her eyes and think of England? The boy hates her as much as she hates him. He'll never get within three feet of her unless he alters his attitude enough to want to willingly offer her comfort or assistance without any malicious intent. Sorry, but even I don't fucking do that, and I think the bloody world of her. How's a Death Eater going to do it?"

"You're fucking her with malicious intent?" Remus asked in a low and dangerous growl and Hermione opened her eyes to see that though he didn't look surprised that they'd been shagging, he did look murderous that Sirius might've been anything but a gentleman to her.

"Nothing malicious about it," Sirius shook his head. "And I don't do anything she doesn't enjoy at the time. Isn't that right, Treasure?"

"Sirius, you're really not helping," Hermione muttered.

"You're shagging him, Hermione?" Bill asked.

Hermione glanced at him guiltily.

"Um… didn't you know?" she asked lamely.

Bill narrowed his eyes.

"Does Ron know?"

"Ron's not my bloody keeper!" Hermione snapped, not liking the judgemental tone in Bill's voice. "He and I are not an item, have made no promises, sworn no vows, and taken no liberties with one another. I can shag whomever I please, and I'll thank you to remember that if I'm a big enough girl that you all want to send me on an "undercover" mission to fuck a Death Eater, I'm a big enough girl to decide to fuck Sirius if I want."

"He's twice your age, Hermione!" Bill protested.

"So what?" Hermione said. "It's not like I'm dating the man or planning some white-picket fence future. It's sex. Have you never had it with someone you don't want to bloody marry?"

She realised when Moody looked triumphant that it was the wrong thing to say. He obviously thought that if she could unemotionally fuck Sirius, she could do the same with Rowle.

"I can't believe this!" Bill muttered before he threw her a dirty look, got up, and left the room.

"Thanks for that, Mad-Eye," Sirius grunted.

"You two are sloppy enough that the rest of us knew," Moody shrugged. "It was only a matter of time."

"I don't want to do this," Hermione said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Tough," Moody said. "You're the only one who can do the job. Tonks is married and pregnant, Ginny's too young, and the Lovegood girl is too distraught. That, and the fucker already fancies you."

"Fancies strangling me," Hermione muttered.

"No amount of arguing will get you out of this, Granger. Get upstairs and pack your shit to move in with the fucker. And make a list of the groceries and shit you'll need to survive in Bjarke's shack with an angry, captive Death Eater."

"I'm not feeding him."

"You're supposed to be doing whatever it takes to win him over, fool," Moody snarled.

"I'd rather murder him," Hermione spat.

"If you can't be trusted not to kill him, I'll put a suppression cuff on you too, girl. Go and pack your shit!"

Hermione curled her lip at the ex-Auror, thinking seriously about telling him to go fuck a troll, but since Dumbledore's murder, he was the closest thing to their leader and it wouldn't do to sow dissemination in the ranks. Not now. Not when they desperately needed to pull together and end this war.

Her chair toppled over with a clatter when she shoved back from the table and stormed out of the kitchen in a fierce rage. Her mood darkened considerably when she stomped up the stairs and found Ron waiting for her on her bed, frowning at her. Clearly Bill had tattled to him immediately.

"Is it true, then?"

"Yes, Ron," Hermione hissed. "I'm fucking Sirius and have been for more than a year. And yes, I am being forced to move in with that fucker and to seduce him into turning traitor to Lord Fuckface, and yes, I am in a particularly foul mood and am not currently in a place where I can give a flying fuck about your feelings on the matter."

Ron recoiled violently, getting to his feet, his brow furrowed and his whole demeanour speaking to his hurt feelings and his shock.

"I… um… I meant, is it true that they're sending you off to some cottage with the Death Eater," Ron clarified. "I… you're fucking  _Sirius_?"

Hermione stopped, her eyes widening when she realised he hadn't known and she closed her eyes, dropping her face into her hands and nodding defeatedly.

"Yeah," she said. "I… sorry. I thought Bill might've told you."

"Bill knows?" Ron asked, sounding more and more stung by the second.

"He only just found out," Hermione said defeatedly, crossing to her bed and flopping down on top of it, pressing her face into her pillow and screaming into it in frustration.

"What? You just came out and told him? How long has this been going on?"

"More than a year," Hermione admitted, too angry and too overwrought with emotion to spare his feelings or be diplomatic. "Got drunk. Fucked him. Found out it's cathartic. Went back for more."

"And you just… what? Blurted it out in your little exclusive meeting with the Aurors?" Ron demanded.

"No, I was fucking blackmailed because apparently Sirius and I have been less subtle than we'd thought, and Moody thinks it's a bloody brilliant idea to sway Rowle into Stockholm syndrome by fucking him, in addition to living with the bastard."

"He wants you to fuck a Death Eater?" Ron hissed, and Hermione wondered if his face was ruddy and his ear were glowing with his fury, yet. It sounded like he was reaching that point of his anger, but with her face buried in the pillows, she couldn't be sure.

"Yes," she grunted.

"Well, you're already fucking one escaped Azkaban prisoner. What's one more, right?" he spat, sounding positively disgusted.

"That's the consensus, yeah," Hermione said tiredly. "If you're not going to offer an alternative and you're just going to insult me, fuck off, Ron. I don't have the patience to listen to you throwing a tantrum just because someone else had the bollocks to wrestle me into bed when you didn't get your act together."

A splutter or wordless fury escaped the redhead, but Hermione didn't lift her head to look at him. The sound of her bedroom door slamming echoed throughout the house when Ron stormed out, leaving her alone. Hermione screamed into her pillow all over again, writhing on the bed and pummelling her mattress in her fury until she couldn't lift her arms before slumping there in utter, impotent defeat.


	9. Chapter 9

Bjarke Rowle glanced sideways at the curly-haired witch he'd had a thing for since the end of their fourth year, trying not to notice the fact that her pretty face was scrunched into an expression of fury. He'd been tasked with accompanying her to the safe-house where they would be keeping her and Thorfinn while she conducted her research and attempted to sway Finn to their way of thinking.

It was beyond clear that she wasn't happy about the arrangement and given the gossip that had been circulating through headquarters, Bjarke didn't really blame her for being in a foul mood. From what he'd heard, Moody had all but ordered her to do this if she wanted to keep being a useful part of the Order, and it was no secret that they intended for her to do research into breaking the tracking spell in-built into Thorfinn's Dark Mark.

To be forced into a house, alone and secluded in the woods alongside someone like Thorfinn would be torture for anyone. Bjarke didn't at all blame Hermione for being put out, considering that she and his brother positively loathed each other. He didn't think he'd ever seen a hatred more intense than the one the two of them shared. It was thick in the air every time she went near Finn, and Bjarke wondered how they intended to keep her safe in Finn's presence, knowing his brother wouldn't balk at hurting her if it meant he'd be able to go free.

"This is it, then?" she asked when they strolled up the deer trail and into view of the tiny cottage nestled amongst the trees.

Bjarke looked in the direction of the cottage and winced a little, not blaming her for looking rather horrified. It was tiny. No more than a hunting cabin he'd bought off an old Scottish muggle, he hadn't done much with it in recent months because he'd been cooped up alongside the Order.

"It's bigger inside," he offered lamely, knowing that wasn't strictly true, but doubting that telling her it was tiny inside would help her current mood.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin," he heard her mutter before she stomped up the path, intent on getting a better look.

"You don't have to do this, you know?" Bjarke told her. "I could do it in your stead. He's  _my_  brother, after all."

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks before turning to look at him.

"They'll never let you," she said coldly. "They think he'll corrupt you, or that you'll let him go free."

"I won't," Bjarke frowned. "I want to keep him out of the Dark Lord's clutches until the war is over."

"Even so," she shrugged. "I've been tasked with researching some things, and apparently I'm too bitchy when I'm researching to be permitted back at Headquarters."

Bjarke winced sympathetically, even if he did know that when she was studying something, she tended to be a right stroppy cow.

"Anything I can do?" he asked as they walked along.

She shook her head, huffing out a frustrated breath as she climbed the stairs onto the small porch of the cabin.

"We'll need to ward this place far better," she pointed out.

"Do you want to do that first?" he asked. "Or should I let you see inside to make sure you aren't going to run for the hills and live out the war where you never have to see Moody or my brother again?"

She eyed him as he turned the doorknob after sliding the key into the old fashioned lock and hearing it clunk into place.

"Is it that bad?" she asked.

Bjarke sighed, turning the handle and pushing the door open. Despite it being good manners to let the lady go first, Bjarke entered before her, needing to make sure had hadn't left the cottage in disarray following his last visit.

"Oh, bloody hell," he muttered to himself when he spotted the remains of what must've been a Puffeskin invasion during the winter. There was dirt and fluff scattered over every surface.

"Haven't been back in a while, I take it?" Hermione asked, coming up beside him and scanning her eyes over the combined kitchen, living, and dining area.

"Not for months," he sighed.

"Cleaning charms should fix most of it," she pointed out, pulling her wand from her pocket and flicking it about the room, casting a few spells. Most of the mess vanished, and the remaining surfaces began to sparkle with cleanliness.

"Maybe we should open the windows?" he suggested, frowning at the lingering scent of wet Puffeskin fur that pervaded the room.

Hermione nodded and Bjarke sighed as he crossed the room and began opening the windows by the fireplace while Hermione opened the ones in the kitchen.

"Is this it?" she asked, eyeing the small space distastefully when he returned.

"There's a laundry through here," he showed her, leading her around a corner and showing he the small bathroom and laundry at the back of the house under the stairs.

"And the bedrooms?" she asked.

"Upstairs," Bjarke said, taking her hand and turning her further around the corner to reveal a hidden staircase behind the entrance to the loo.

She didn't pull her hand away from his as she took a deep breath before beginning to climb the stairs, and Bjarke's insides flipped nervously as he climbed the steps behind her, the staircase barely wide enough to accommodate his broad shoulders.

"I don't imagine your brother will be able to come and go up these very easily," she said when they were almost at the top.

"Probably not," he grunted.

"How many bedrooms are there?"

"Only two," he admitted. "This one through here is the one I claimed for myself whenever I was here."

He led her by the hand into the room he'd taken in times when he'd come to stay here to be free of Finn and his friends at the Tower.

"It's not much," he offered when she scanned her eyes over the meagre contents of the room. Only a large queen bed shoved into the corner of the room and a bedside table with a lamp filled up the space, but it was so cramped that even that was almost too much.

"Is this the bigger of the two rooms?" she wanted to know, turning away to investigate the other one.

"They're identical," Bjarke admitted. "I only chose this one because morning sun streams in through the window of the other one. Mine gets the afternoon sun through the trees and helps heat the room before bed. You can take whichever one you want."

"I don't want either of them," she muttered. "I don't want to be here. I can't… I'll kill him if it's just the two of us stuck in this hellhole."

"He's really not that bad, you know?" Bjarke offered, crossing the room and opening the bedroom window to air the room out in preparation for being inhabited again.

"He's a complete arse," Hermione argued, putting her hands on her hips after she'd flicked her wand to tidy things in here, too.

"Well, yeah," Bjarke sighed. "But you're no ball of sunshine yourself, Granger."

She glowered at him and Bjarke smirked just a little bit. Merlin, she was pretty when she was angry. He could see why Finn riled her up so often. She positively radiated power when she was in a strop like that.

"Do you understand what Moody's commanded me to do?" she asked after a few minutes of tense silence where Bjarke tried desperately to think of doing anything other than throwing her down on the bed and fucking her until she smiled again.

"Not really. Research, right? Research and inducing some form of Stockholm syndrome in Finn to make him behave?" Bjarke confirmed.

"Among other things," she sighed. "They want me to do whatever is necessary to sway him to our side and make him loyal until the end of the war. Literally  _anything_  that will make him join our team."

"They want you to fuck him," Bjarke summarised, his brow furrowing.

Of fucking course, they did. He knew she'd been shagging Black all bloody year, but this was just… cruel. Bjarke clenched his fist and looked away. Every fucking time he started to think that just maybe this witch might finally give him the time of day, something came along to fuck it up. First the war, and now his brother.

"Were you kidding when you said you fancied me at school?" Granger asked, surprising him with her direct question.

Bjarke looked back at her, hating that she could probably see the answer written all over his face.

"No," he confessed quietly. "It wasn't a joke."

She frowned at him for a long moment, tracing her eyes over him intently and Bjarke almost squirmed under the scrutiny.

"Do you still fancy me?" she asked after an uncomfortable silence.

Bjarke raised his eyebrows.

"Are you only asking because you want to fuck with Finn when you need ammunition to hurt him when it's just the two of you locked up in this place?" Bjarke demanded.

"Do you care if I am?" she challenged raising her eyebrows.

Bjarke scowled.

"You've never looked sideways at me at Headquarters. You'd rather fuck Sirius even though he's twice our age. What? You're cranky with the Order and want to hurt Finn, so suddenly you're willing to climb aboard my cock and fuck me stupid?"

"Do you object?" she asked, refusing to outright answer the question. "Keep in mind that, at some point, I'm likely going to be fucking your big brother and maybe succumb to his meagre charms cramped in this fucking cottage with him for months on end. So, I'm asking if I'm something you just need to get out of your system, or if you really actually fancy me, Bjarke?"

Bjarke frowned at her, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

Merlin, he didn't fucking know. He'd fancied her at school and he'd joined the Order because he knew he'd be safer with them and he  _knew_  she'd be more likely to pay him some attention if he was shoved under her nose. But did he still fancy her? Would he, after she was fucking his brother for the sake of the Order and winning the war? Could he go the rest of his life not knowing what it might feel like to sink his cock deep inside her and grind into her until she gasped his name?

"You want to fuck me?" he challenged, raising one eyebrow. "Now?"

She shrugged her shoulders and Bjarke suspected that somewhere along the line, Hermione Granger had learned to use sex as an outlet for her rage and frustration. Could he be the conduit to that outlet without getting himself all fucked up over her again? If he said no, he reckoned she'd just go back to headquarters and fuck Black again.

And who was he to turn down a free shag?

"Fine," Bjarke shrugged, stepping toward her.

He didn't hesitate or give her the chance to change her mind. Instead he threaded his hands into her curls like he'd daydreamed of doing back at Hogwarts and he stooped to steal a kiss from her lips. She leaned into him immediately, her lips parting and her tongue darting out to meet his for the first time. Bjarke tightened his grip on her hair when magic and electricity raced through him at the taste of her.

Fucking hell, he was so screwed.

She wasn't shy or careful, as he'd once imagined she would be. She knew what she wanted and what she needed, and she reached for it without hesitation. Her hands went to the hem on his shirt without hesitation, and he growled in the back of his throat when he had to break from kissing her to get the garment off over his head.

She tasted like milky tea and toothpaste, an odd combination that made him think of the many times he'd sat watching her drink her tea while she read, or the few times he'd invaded the bathroom behind her in the mornings to brush his teeth alongside her. Her hands were cold when she traced them over his now-bare chest, her fingers dancing over his abs, his ribs, and then up his chest toward his shoulders. He squirmed just a bit when she flicked both of his nipples while he claimed her mouth again, his tongue tangling with hers and heat coursing through him.

His cock stirred inside his jeans and Bjarke groaned when she wrapped her arms around his neck, climbing him like a tree. He slid one hand from her hair and down the length of her back to scoop under her arse when she climbed him, revelling in the way she curled her legs around him and locked her ankles.

Sweet fucking Salazar, he wanted her.

"Fuck!" he groaned when she broke from his lips, trailing her mouth along the length of his jaw and nipping his earlobe hard enough to sting. He turned the witch in his hold, stumbling blindly for the bed with her curled around him and she huffed out a soft breath when he reached it, toppling the two of them down on top of it.

"Are you sure about this?" he managed when he ground his cock against the junction of her thighs, his hands capturing hers and pinning them to the bed above her head.

"Give it to me, Bjarke," she demanded, surprising him with how direct she was, and with the way she used his first name. She didn't even blink as she held his gaze when he ground himself against her again, and Bjarke almost gulped, not so sure he could handle this witch, after all.

He nodded, leaning into her and kissing her again, his blood fizzing with desire even as he released her wrists and went for the hem of her shirt. When he pulled back far enough to peel her out of it, her hands were at the fastenings on his jeans and the rasp of his fly as she unzipped it seemed loud in his ears. His heart was pounding, and he was breathing hard, trying to think about anything but how badly he wanted her, knowing he wouldn't last if he wasn't careful.

Hermione was anything but careful as she peeled open his jeans, and to keep her from getting her hands on him too soon, lest she bring him undone, Bjarke kissed her neck, liking the way her nails cut into his shoulders when he found a sweet spot on the side of her neck by her pulse point that made her arch and mewl like a kitten.

She moaned softly, rolling her hips, grinding herself against him, and when he trailed hot kisses across her skin, and breathed in the sweet scent of her perfume, Bjarke managed to draw a soft cry from her lips. She arched when he wrapped his mouth around her right nipple and suckled gently, determined to make this everything he'd ever dreamed, rather than just letting her have him hard and fast the way she seemed to want.

He pinched her left nipple, rolling it between his thumb and his forefinger, smirking around her skin as she cried out again, tangling her fingers in his thick blond hair.

"Gods," she whispered breathlessly, using her toes to try and push his jeans down, clearly intent on getting him inside of her.

Bjarke laughed, his mouth and his hands trading places on her breasts, enjoying the way he was taunting her. She was so warm and soft under him, even with all of her hard edges, thanks to the war. Merlin, he was in over his head with this one. He always had been. She mewled when he kissed his way lower, taking his time tracing his tongue around her naval and over the taut flat of her flat stomach.

She was too skinny, he noticed. He'd always known she was petite, but the oversized jumpers she favoured hid how much weight she'd lost thanks to the stress of war. Smoothing his hands over every inch of her, Bjarke snagged his fingers in her jeans, unbuttoning them and peeling them down her legs. He dragged her knickers from her body as well until she was laid out on the bed under him, naked and so bloody enticing it almost hurt. She wasn't all that special too look at, it was true. She'd never been the prettiest girl in school, and she wasn't what one might consider to be classically beautiful. But she had a defiance and a wicked little gleam in her eyes when he met her gaze as he trailed his tongue toward her pussy that made him think she was more beautiful than any other girl he'd shagged.

"Gods," she murmured when he pressed a soft kiss to her clit before peeling her folds apart with his thumbs.

She squirmed in surprise when he blew cold air against her flushed and glistening skin, and Bjarke smirked to himself at her responsiveness before he leaned in and drew his tongue across her pussy, dipping inside her to taste her sweet nectar for the first time.

"Oh, wow," he heard her mutter as she threaded her fingers into his hair and arched her hips, wanting more.

Bjarke took his time, doubting he'd ever get to shag this witch again after today. He ate her out slowly, dipping his tongue into her again and again, licking and licking and licking.

"Sweet fucking Merlin, Bjarke," she muttered when she began to thrash, her head tossing from side to side, her grip on him tight like she couldn't take it anymore.

Determined to bring her off with his tongue before he fucked her, Bjarke latched onto her clit, suckling hard while he drove two fingers into her tight sheath.

She uttered a soft shriek, arching off the bed and breathing hard, her thighs squeezing his head when she tried to snap them closed as though that might save her. He was laughing smugly as he crawled up her body when she went lax, and she didn't put up a fight when he kept her thighs either side of his head, her legs looped over his shoulders. Aligning himself at her centre, Bjarke leaned into her a stole a kiss from her plump lips before slowly beginning to inch his way inside of her.

She kissed him back hard, her tongue sure, her arms reaching for him and pulling him down on top of her more firmly. She curled up a little further, bettering the angle as Bjarke pushed inside of her.

"Fucking hell, you're tight," he muttered to the witch, clenching his eyes closed when he was fully sheathed within her.

She squeezed him, her internal walls clenching around him and Bjarke almost lost control.

"Fuck, don't do that," he muttered against her lips. "I'll come before I get you off again if you do that."

She laughed huskily, refraining from doing it again though she reached to card her fingers through his hair.

Withdrawing slowly, Bjarke pulled almost all the way out, lifting off her just enough to watch her face before he shoved back in hard, enjoying the way her eyes widened a little in surprise as his actions.

"Don't tease," she whispered, arching into every thrust as he took his time, withdrawing slow and thrusting hard.

"You want it harder?" he asked, eyeing her curiously.

She nodded, her heels digging into his back and Bjarke nodded, shifting his angle slightly to better balance before he sped up his thrusts. She cried out softly when he drove in hard, arching under him and rocking herself on his cock like she couldn't get enough. He could see the flames dancing in her eyes, her anger with the Order and her frustration with her situation simmering just below the surface and Bjarke wondered if he'd be able to handle all that fire power should she unleash it upon him.

She moaned softly, closing her eyes and tipping her head back. Bjarke leaned into her neck, kissing and nipping the sensitive flesh, squeezing his own eyes closed and trying to keep from coming when her body began to clench and tighten around him.

"Harder, Rowle," she whispered breathlessly, rocking herself into each thrust, the symphony of damp flesh slapping together mingling with her breathless cries and driving him mad.

"Fuck," he cursed, throwing caution to the wind and just hoping she was close enough to orgasm again when he threw self-control out the window.

He slammed into her again and again, grinding in as deeply as he could and swallowing the whimpers of pleasure and pain she emitted, taking them for himself as he drove into her wet heat until his eyes crossed.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" he roared when he lost complete control, thrusting erratically, losing his rhythm but beyond caring as heat fizzed up from his toes and scalded down his back, coalescing in his bollocks before shooting out the end of his cock and splashing against Hermione Granger's womb.

She rocked herself under him, wiggling her hand between their bodies and tormenting her clit before she followed him over the edge, clamping down around him and milking every last drop of come from his body until he wasn't sure his dick would ever get hard again.

Collapsing on top of her, heedless of her small stature compared to his own, Bjarke tried to think, tried to figure out which way was up, tried to catch his breath and make sense of his scrambled thoughts.

"Bloody hell," he muttered against her neck when she slid her legs off his shoulders until she was stretched out beneath him.

She trailed her fingers idly over his shoulder and his back, nonsensical patterns tickling his skin and soothing him in a way he couldn't explain. Merlin, he was so fucking screwed with this witch.

He couldn't do that again.

Not ever.

She wasn't the witch for him, he realised. She was too much. Too intense. Too powerful. She felt like a drug that had fucked him up and was going to leave him jonesing for more. He could already imagine he'd end up scratching at his skin, desperate for another hit, and Bjarke got the feeling that if he ever took this witch again, it would be the end of him.

"Everything you imagined?" she asked softly, her tone conversational as though he hadn't just rocked her world and Bjarke knew he was in trouble.

"Better," he grunted, lifting off her enough to withdraw his softening cock from inside her before rolling to the side and stretching out on his back beside her.

She didn't roll toward him or cuddle into his side, and he got the feeling she wasn't a cuddler, and didn't crave more intimacy after sex.

"I'm glad," she said, and Bjarke wasn't sure what to make of the fact that though she looked it, she almost didn't sound it. She sounded kind of like she could take or leave what they'd done and it wouldn't matter to her, one way or the other, if they never shagged again, or if they shagged every hour of every day for the rest of their lives.

"Disappointed?" he asked, feeling a little bitter.

"With you?" she asked, turning her head and frowning at him. "Of course not. That was lovely."

"Lovely?" he asked, frowning in return.

"I orgasmed twice," she shrugged. "That's pretty much as good as it gets."

Bjarke frowned at the little witch, trying to figure her out.

"You don't care if we never fuck again, do you?" he asked, more curious than he was bitter.

"I wouldn't be opposed to shagging you again," she replied, and he wondered if she was being diplomatic or if she was just blunt.

"So, if I suggested you and I begin the same kind of arrangement you've got going with Black?" he asked.

"I'd be agreeable," she said. "Though how we'd manage that when I'm to be locked away in this tiny cabin with your brother and far away from the Order is beyond me. I don't imagine Moody will allow visitors once Thorfinn's transported here, else he won't become properly attached to me."

Bjarke didn't have to ask any more questions. He'd already decided that ever shagging her again would be dangerous for his mental health.

"Right," he muttered.

The silence that followed wasn't awkward, exactly, but it certainly was different from the types of silences that had stretched between them before that moment and Bjarke sighed before eventually sitting up and digging around on the floor to fish his wand out of his jeans and cast cleaning charms on both of them.

"Are you on contraceptives?" he asked of the witch where she was still stretched on the bed looking a little like she wouldn't mind taking a nap.

"Took one of the potions last night," she shrugged her shoulders. "But cast the charm too, if you want."

She sounded almost like she didn't care if he didn't do it and Bjarke didn't like the strange twist of excited tension that flipped in his stomach when he imagined what might happen if he didn't do it and she, by some miracle, got pregnant with his kid. Merlin, he didn't know if he wanted that or was terrified of that, and Bjarke ran a hand through his hair before casting the charm over her lower abdomen.

"Ready to go back?" he asked when he'd pulled his jeans back on and was dressed, once more.

She eyed him, cracking one eye open, still lying there completely naked and testing his ability to keep his hands to himself.

"If you like," she sighed, looking like she didn't really want to go back, but would if she had to.

"You'll be trapped here soon enough," Bjarke told her, unable to resit rolling toward her and scooping her into his embrace, hating that for the first time in his life after fucking a witch, he was the one feeling needy and like he needed to be cuddled and assured it wasn't a mistake and that she wasn't going to forget his name by tomorrow.

Merlin's bollocks, he really was a dick for all the times he'd made witches feel as he felt right in that moment and he wrapped the girl up into his arms and held her close for a few minutes, noting that she didn't protest or try to pull away. In fact, she burrowed into his hold like she enjoyed the warmth and the affection, but he still suspected she could take or leave his affection and even his company, and it wouldn't matter to her one way or another.

Bjarke realised as he laid there holding her that if she really was going to carry out Moody's orders about seducing Thorfinn to their side by whatever means necessary, his brother was going to learn the hard way what it was like to crave validation and attention from a witch who seemed, for all intents and purposes, to have locked away her own heart behind a wall of ice so thick that surely nothing would ever melt it.

Even when he let her go and watched the witch get dressed before she sauntered out of the room intent on warding the cabin better to keep Finn from escaping, Bjarke found himself pitying his brother for the first time in his life when it came to witches. The smug bastard was in for a  _very_  rude awakening if and when the time came that he bedded the brilliant little muggleborn.


End file.
